My mother used to be adamant that there was no one like her. Absolutely. No. One.
It used to make me laugh......she was so intent on that.
I read an article this morning..........I wanted to share it with you..
It is by Wendy Bradford, Blogger, Mama One to Three.
Before long, we learn that in this life, we are not here forever. We learn through the changing of seasons, the loss of our pets in childhood, the death of a loved one.
We have no guarantee of numbers. So many days under the sun or drizzly afternoons spent gazing out windows. We think they are infinite but they are not. One will be the last. And this is not the hardest part. The hardest is knowing those we cherish will share our fate; we can make no deal to change that.
We grow up when we know this. And this is the deal we get to be here. We don't ask, yet are given opportunity to love, to embrace, to wonder and be scared, to scream and kiss and run and lie still in the cool grass under the flickering stars on a cool evening.
We go through this time, galloping or whispering across the years, with a vague knowledge of the end. We are born to love feverishly. To anguish and rebound. To flourish. We are born for each other.
It matters little where or when or how we are here. Our hearts share the same code. Although we spend our lives attempting to cement that which is impermanent, we come to the same end.
Our gift is not one of time because that is uncertain and unfairly metered out. We have one moment in which to live. Our gift is of comfort and care. We cradle those hearts we meet, bringing joy where there is sorrow and ease when there is turmoil. Those of us who have, and who can -- we must. It is the deal we make with the one we get.
The deal we make.
I think of my mother a lot these days. 2013 was both joyful and sad for me. Both difficult and revealing. Loss and letting go were so interwined, that I didn't see them happening until afterward.
Sometimes, I find myself looking at memories of last year, like a slide show.
.....me washing my mother's hair in the shower, like she was MY child, tears running down my face, wondering if this was the last time.
.....holding my daughter, while she rested between bouts of labor, and the intermingling of fear and joy and relief, when baby Dale emerged looking surprised.
.....waking from yet my third surgery to see my first daughter looking worried, but smiling through her tears, when I wiggled my arms and feet, and said, "nope, not paralyzed yet."
.....feeling so incredibly loved when my grandchildren throw themselves at me, and hug me hard.
.....lying on the couch in a sunny window, with Roy snuggled up under my arm, the way I spent so many afternoons when I finally gave in to what I could not control.
.....knitting and drinking tea with a dear friend, in a sunny window, for a whole afternoon.
......curled up on the couch, on a cozy evening like this one, DH in his chair, Roy close by, grateful for home.
So many memories. Good, not so good.
But I don't think we are all that different actually. I think we are all pretty much just the same.
Or at least we start out that way.
What we do along the way is called choice.
Isn't that right, baby Dale????