Facebook has a way of keeping the past alive. Today, in the midst of my personal grief process, it reminded me of a post from five years ago. It was from my mother. Here’s what she said,
“Theresa, Thank you for my
beautiful birthday card. You were the first. Trouble is, birthdays just remind one that they are getting older, lol. 77 is old!”
She was still “herself,” back then as far as I could tell. I was in California and had not seen the dark times that she was entering. She must have been feeling her age, mentally and physically. But she never forgot to say thank you. And she never forgot to send me a card for my birthday. Ever. And I moved around a lot.
If my mother was still here I would say a few things to her. Like this, “Please don’t be afraid of everything…No one is going to hurt you,” Or, “You are a good person. God loves you.” Or, “Thank you for always remembering my birthday. Even though I don’t make a big deal of it, my heart smiles when I see your birthday card in the mailbox. I know you spent time looking at hundreds of cards so you could find just the right one. I know how much you love me, and I love you just as much. I could not ask for a better mother. I love you.”
I could go on.
She would be 82 this year. Is that old? I’m not so sure. What is old? Does it have to hurt so much?
I’m glad she is not hurting any more.
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