Mom was a singular being in so many ways and endlessly special, so it’s easy to miss her. The curious thing is that some people think it’s harder on Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or my birthday, or on a day like today, where we continue to celebrate her. Though I’ve said it before, it’s worth repeating: it isn’t harder today, than it will be tomorrow, than it was yesterday. Every day can be hard and as time passes, I’m still surprised at some of the times when she pops into mind. The most random, curious, silly little things because when you have someone you love profoundly, that love doesn’t need a huge moment or occasion, it just needs your coffee to have sugar just how she liked it, or seeing a movie that she would have enjoyed, or listened to something terrible on the radio you are 1,000% sure she would have bitched about.
This also changes with the people we love. With Dad, I am reminded of him when I myself laugh out loud and realize that a version of his laughter lives in my belly. With my Grandfather, it’s in the spicy food I eat, the old Cuban music I sometimes come across, a great boxing fight, or the places where my hair is thinning. With Tata (my grandmother) it’s in the textures of certain things, certain flavors or temperatures of foods she liked, or when I see a woman with a short hairstyle that reminds me of her, be it from the pictures where it showed just how stunningly beautiful she was in her youth, or as I knew her, an elegantly beautiful woman with impeccable hands and a timeless smile.
Love has many definitions and many expressions, and one of those expressions is in how we remember and pay tribute to the ones we love. I shall always write with my heart first (which possibly explains why I have to fix so many verb tenses when I’m editing). I do so in part because Mom quite often led with her heart. Although I love all the stories of her generosity, nothing beats seeing a room light up because she arrived. She had that magic in her. I can see it clearly, closer than yesterday, because those memories live on. I see the things she planted in me and my brothers, I see my nephews and curious moments of kindness that are a combination of our Mom, their own parents, and what they bring to the table. I hear stories of how some people miss her because she would always listen to them when they needed a kind ear and she offered the best advice…something I do my utmost to carry on that legacy with whatever I can bring to a conversation. I get messages from time to time from someone who thought of Mom because they met someone from Cuba and people have been generous in letting me know when they dream of Mom. I’ve had readers focus on the character of Mrs. Fawn and tell me she’s their favorite…and I always smile, because that’s Mom and she is the favorite of a lot of people, each with their own reason, each with several stories.
I’ll always miss you Mom and that feeling shall always be near, because even if yesterday is always there, just out of reach, your love keeps us company, because you are always here. Cheers to you, today, and every day.
Peace, love, and sauvignon blanc.
No comments:
Post a Comment