A new one. OUI, MAMAM My mother died last December, she was - TopicsExpress



          

A new one. OUI, MAMAM My mother died last December, she was 83. My sons mother died three years ago, on yesterdays date. I received a phone call from my younger son; How do you feel on this day? I had to be honest. I had blocked it. The reels were lined up, ready to re-roll. Did not need to re-live those long hours. You might ask yourself, “Why?!”, do I impose such stuff. Am I seeking sympathy; didn’t I get enough? No! My patient friends, my situation is not unique; it is not your prurient curiosity or anger to pique. Many will have their own story; would be able to relate. I wish to reflect on something, for which it is too late. Oui, Mamam. Yes, mother dear. Mamam was my choice of endearment; sadly, she never heard me say it. Telephone conversations were interesting, as monologues go. She fought hard to succeed, but her hearing was fading; she and her hearing aid seemed to lose each other. A sliver of choice and an avalanche of circumstance set the stage. Our relationship was strained, no broken, by external command. Speak not to me of the “good old days”; I heard of them from her. I recall my grandfather, with little fondness; what he demanded of her was total unquestioning obedience. She was quiet, but determined; she bided her time; she succeeded where others said she would fail. So, what’s my point; what’s my tale? What is there to understand? You have your grief; I have mine! I will tell you what I miss. The small things, every-day things; did you know that so and so did this, and do you remember when (it was so funny); and on that day it was so sunny. To have a chance to ask about him and her; where they fitted into the fold. Beyond our control, our time together for many years had been bought and sold. We reunited, I was 30; so many years had passed. We were islands apart. So many experiences not shared; where were we to begin? I chose my information carefully; she was more willing to give. Chaos, chance and choice; that is how I term the tides of human fortune. Inadequate, at best, to bridge the gap forged by time; we tried our best, nonetheless; a rocky mountain to climb. So, here I sit; I will hear her voice no more. There are things I wanted to share. “I wrote a poem; it got published”; “that’s good, my son, I am so proud”. It will not be in this world that it will be so. In another. somewhere in eternity, we shall meet. “Hello, Mamam, I love you; I always did”; she will smile, and say, “I know, and your poem: I am so proud”. LBP 18 April 2014
Posted on: Mon, 21 Apr 2014 05:29:53 +0000

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