I have been very bad with this project I created huh? I have been thinking about it though. As important as it to remember, sometimes I draw away from writing because of the things I do not want to talk about. While I am open on this blog about a lot of who I am; I am uncomfortable sharing the parts of me that relates to others simply because I want to respect their privacy. Much of my life story has been incredibly blessed. Some of it has been very painful. How do I share those parts without sharing things about my family and friends that they may not want known. For now I’m going with not getting into the messy stories. Right now I’ll share one of the shortest and best stories that I have:
I was sixteen years old. My mom had been battling cancer since I was in the 8th grade, but my sixteenth year it had really begun to show. In reality it was probably only three or four months from the time my mom would pass away. During these days my mom spent most of her time on the couch. She was too tired to do much of anything else. I remember that she had lost so much weight. She probably weighed between ninety to one hundred pounds. One day though she pulled me onto her lap. I remember sitting there partly feeling bad because I was bigger than her, partly feeling like a teenager sitting in their parent’s lap, and partly feeling like it was the most wonderful place in the world. She pulled me close, tugged my head down onto her shoulder, and began to talk to me about how much she loved me. After rocking me and speaking words of love, she began to talk to me about how she was going to die. I think I began crying at that point, and saying I did not want to talk about it. She insisted that I know that she wanted us all to go on. She wanted my dad to remarry, and told me that she wanted me to know it would be okay.
When I look back on that experience, I remember it as the most love I had ever felt from another human in my life up until that point, and for several years thereafter. I was SURE in that moment that I was loved. Throughout the rest of my teenage years though, the memory brought about more pain than joy. I think it was because I felt so alone and disconnected from others. I watched all of my friends with their mothers and knew that I would never receive that kind of love again. I felt like an orphan. None of this is to discredit my father. I would not have survived this time without him. I have always known my dad loves me, but he did not communicate it in the same ways my mother did…and either way, there is no replacing a mother.
As I have gotten older I look back on the memory with less pain. Now it is more a tug in my heart and a vague sensation of losing out on something I still want. Today though, I can see how blessed I was to have that experience; to have carried with me, the knowledge that someone loved me over these nine years.
Many children do not loose their mothers or fathers until they are far into adulthood; but sadly many children never know with certainty that they are, and were, loved. For this I am incredibly blessed.