I just got notice of my mother's yarhrzeit, and again, I am very saddened by this great loss.  It will be 18 years since she passed away and I still feel the urge (need) to pick up the phone and call her.  I remember like it was yesterday when my sister called to tell me our mother was gone--you see, I lived out of town.

I have three sisters and I'm the youngest.  We were all in our 50s and 60s, all married with grown children, when our mom died--not youngsters by any means--but I remember so well all of us feeling lost, alone...like four little orphans.  I remember how much our hearts hurt.

Growing up, my parents were not visibly or verbally affectionate.  They did not hug or kiss us a great deal.  I think we just knew that they loved us.  My sisters and I talked about this soon after the funeral.  We all said, "Mama never said she loved us."  She told her grandchildren all the time, but never her daughters.  We rationalized that she was too busy taking care of four girls, a house, walking to the grocery store (she didn't drive) and making sure she didn't miss any of our school plays or programs.  So, of course she loved us.  So why did it still hurt that she never said the words "I love you"?

When my oldest daughter was born, it came so naturally to tell her over and over again how much I loved her.  My daughters and I never end a phone conversation without those words, and needless to say, my grandchildren and I do the same.

Losing a parent, a sibling, a spouse, is very, very hard, and everyone adjusts  differently.  We thought our hearts would never stop aching, but they did.  During the shiva period, my sisters and I would remind each other of funny stories and then cry.  It took a long time for us to be able to tell stories and smile.

I think of her all of the time and now realize how much the little things she said really affected me.  Even when I became a married woman with children, my mom would often call me in Philadelphia from her Baltimore home if it was raining out to tell me to take an umbrella.  She added that I should "bundle up"--her expression for dressing warm.  Of course, she always reminded me to lock the car doors.  After she passed away, I remember going to a meeting one night and sadly thinking, "no one told me to be careful...to bundle up."

I still try to visit my parents' graves when I go back to my childhood home.  When my husband and kids and I celebrate happy occasions, I feel like I still have to "tell" them.  But I feel a greater need to do so when there are problems or sickness in the family.  The sense of comfort is enormous--just standing near them, feeling them say "it will be all right."

The hurting does stop, but the memories of them get better, so please, just hold the ones you love close to your heart.

At the funeral, one of my sisters kept telling me to "say goodbye to Mama."  I couldn't do it.  I stood there shaking my head "No."  After the shiva, I sat on the train back to Philadelphia, and I guess I was half way home--to my home--when I looked out the window, with tears streaming down my face, and said "Good bye Mama."  

So as my Mama always said, "I wish for you, what you wish for yourself."

 

Buddee

 

By the way, if you have any questions, or have ideas for something you’d like me to write about, email my daughter and she’ll tell me (I’d say to email me, but…well…let’s just say I’d won’t be giving advice on how to use a computer.)

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