1 year ago…

It has been 1 year today that Mom’s been gone.  Accidentally (or not), this morning I was trying to find a saved vmail on my cell phone and there she was.  I was stunned to hear her gritty voice telling me about the weather, about her breakfast and how I didn’t need to call her every day.  I remember saving the message because she ended it with a long pause and then … “I love you” (something she seldom said unless it was said to her first).

For weeks after my mother died, I dreamed about her each night.  And finally, a dream where she was in bed with my father and it was early, early morning.  She wanted to get up and I wanted her to sleep “just a little longer, please”… the way you might want a young child to sleep in on a Saturday morning and give you a bit of time to yourself.  My dad leaned over and said to me, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my eye on her.”

And all around her was broken glass.  I freaked out that she would cut herself and kept trying to brush it away.  Then I woke up.

The dream was upsetting, so I looked up ‘broken glass’ in a dream interpretation book.  It represents transition or transformation.  Hers?  Mine?  I believe it indicated transition for both of us, that she and my dad are together and I can stop worrying about her.  And at random moments like this morning, she will reach out to let me know she loves me.

I played the vmail several times, then resaved it.  She is missed…

Love it

Love you both!

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About hereisakiss

Daughter Writer Art's Educator
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9 Responses to 1 year ago…

  1. Ginny White says:

    Love to you on this day – I love what you wrote about your mom, about your dad, about transition and transformation. May we all continue to have moments when we feel the love of and for those who go before us.

  2. Claire says:

    Beautiful, beautiful — as are all of your posts. Love to you on this most important anniversary…

  3. Liz (Mayo) Maloney says:

    Believe it or not, reading your blog about your mom in some way is helping me prepare for the day…my mom is 85, today was our bingo day…it also reminds me that even though I lose patience with some of the things she does, she too will be missed and I should appreciate every day and phone call where I can still hear her voice. Thankyou for that…

  4. Emily Calvo says:

    I love this story. I’m sure your mother was whispering to you. I’m glad you heard it. These events can be very comforting. After my dad died on January 7, 2000, (he wanted to hold out for Y2K) I was in a flea market and found a postcard dated with his birthday and my birth year and addressed to his teeny Iowa town.The message was similarly appropriate message. I spent the quarter for the postcard and wrote a poem about it.

  5. hereisakiss says:

    And here is a comment from my friend, Don…
    Elizabeth,
    Your entry about your mother is so touching. Thank you so much for sharing that.

    It reminds me of how I used to call my mother’s phone frequently for nearly a year after her death in July, 2010. Her cheery and somewhat officious, “Hello! This Avis Lowe. I can’t take your call…” remained on my mother’s phone for nearly a year after her death. (My siblings used her North Dakota farm house from time to time to take care of business and to visit our hometown so we didn’t cut the phone line. No one erased outgoing message either and I wondered if they might have been listening too. But we’re upper-plains Lutheran-raised stoic Norwegians so it’s not like I could have asked!) Calling 701 785 2333 and hearing her voice brought some measure of comfort, I guess, and served as a precious living remnant of her. The other last remnant of my mother was her chokecherry jelly. I had a few jars at the time of her death. I finished the last one not long ago — a certain reminder that she was, indeed, gone from the earth. Now all that’s left are wonderful memories. But that’s a lot, too.
    Don L.

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