t’s been 10 years since my mother died. In those 10 years, I’ve moved 8 times. I became a Yoga teacher, a Life Coach and I’m writing a book. I became a Doula and a vegan and then not one again :). I have a dog and a cat and I bought a car. I live by the Ocean and the inside of my car is usually covered in sand. I listen to Italian opera when I’m sad and I blast Indian rap when I’m feeling feisty 🙂 I have wonderful friends and a beautiful loving family. Life, is pretty wonderful right now. I am proud of who I’ve become and who I am destined to be. But it hits me sometimes… my mother doesn’t know me now.
She knew me much younger and more selfish. She knew me when I didn’t know who I was yet. She knew me when I was working in PR and waitressing and not coming home at night. When I smoked cigarettes and was angry and confused about the direction of my life. She knew me different than I am now. And it makes me sad.
I live by faith and so I know she can “see” me. She is “with” me. But I want to tell her and actually hear what she has to say back. I want her to hug me and tell me I’m doing the right thing now. I want her to look at me, with her beautiful eyes, and in her single glance I know she is proud of all I have become.
The death of a parent brings about so many emotions. Over time the grief changes. It ebbs and flows. Their absence makes you long for things you avoided when they were alive.
I dreaded her weighing in on my life. Mostly because she always right and I was wandering through my days lost. But now, there is nothing I wish for more than for her to ask “How are you doing baby?” I am longing to tell her, “Mama I made it…”