It's my third Mother's Day without a mom to call or send a card to. It still bothers me. I'd almost rather just pretend it wasn't any kind of special day. Her grave is a couple hours away or so and I've been there only once and that was on her birthday that year she died. Surprisingly I felt nothing, but then only her body is there. It didn't help that my stepfather had yet to place a stone on her grave and 6 months had passed.
I've wanted to plant a tree for her in my own yard as a memorial. Somewhere I could go and feel close to her even it it was just in my imagination. I thought a weeping willow would be perfect. When I was probably 3 or 4 she and I would sing Song Sung Blue. She loved Neil Diamond. Sometimes she'd record herself playing the piano and I would come into the room and there would be a little tiff between us, me wanting to go out with one yellow sock and one white sock(you look like a clown!!) or throwing a fit because I didn't want to wear my coat to go outside. Somewhere in her things are these tapes. Somewhere there's a recording of us singing Song Sung Blue. Both of us surely have done our share of Weeping like a Willow in our lives.
Her life always struck me as sad. I even had to ask my sister-in-law at the time (who was with her daily) if she was ever truly happy. When someone spends 30 years of their life with someone who drives everyone that cares away and makes them miserable on a daily basis, you have to ask yourself if they were ever happy. She always struck me as a weeping willow.
This morning I woke up rather weepy feeling myself. Hearing about what everyone else is doing with their moms today made me miss her. I thought going out and doing a little gardening would help. Dig some dirt. Clear some weeds.
I started pulling the weeds and grass out of the bed where I planted sunflowers last year and right there in the middle of the bed against the fence was an oak seedling. It got me thinking that perhaps this was her tree. Perhaps she was really an oak. Oak trees hold on to their brown leaves relentlessly in the fall and winter. How hard it must have been for her to let go of this life. She must have hung on to her circumstances that I saw as misery for for so long for her own reasons that I'll never understand. The oak is strong and resilient by no means weak or delicate. Perhaps it grows there to make me remind me that she was stronger than I gave her credit for. I think she and I both underestimated how strong the other really was and spent too much time trying to protect each other.
I hope someday I can sit under the shade of that oak tree and remember her how she should be remembered. Happy Mother's Day Momma.
(Aaron if you are reading this, I really would like to have those tapes)
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This is after painting it. Color is Clivenden Sandstone by Valspar.
It's beyond me why someone would paint rocks the color of gravel. Leave it alone people. Perhaps it was to go with the awful blood red walls that were in here (this is the before picture).
