Mama crossed over on December 3,1971.
I was nineteen, a newlywed, and so naive in the ways of the world. Even though I believe with all my being that she lives in another dimension, happy and content, there are times when I wish desperately I could pick up the phone and hear her voice. This blog entry is not intended to be morbid but rather to honor and remember a woman that was taken before her time and before I could know her as my best friend.
No matter the age of the girl, she always needs her mother.
The last time I saw you turned out to be the last time.
To lose you at such a young age was an injustice and a crime.
If I only knew our time together was coming to an end,
I would have still loved you as a mother, but gotten to know you as a friend.
I would have asked about your life, ideas, and dreams.
And found the time to listen to your plans and schemes.
You put them on hold to raise brother and me.
Did you ever regret that decision and wish to be free?
You painted beautiful pictures in watercolor art.
Clever and witty sketches conceived by a creative heart.
But, did you sing? Did you act? Did you want to dance?
Or travel to far-away places like London or Rome, or Paris, France?
Was Daddy the first boy you ever kissed?
Did you practice on your arm first, so his lips you wouldn’t miss?
So many questions, forever will remain a mystery.
Just little girly things shared over coffee and only with me.
If I had known it was to be the last time,
I would’ve called your bluff when you said, “Go, I’ll be fine.”
Never would I have stepped one foot on that plane
And flown away leaving you alone and in pain.
Somewhere in heaven I know you gaze down at me,
And smile at your grandchildren bouncing on brother's knee.
So, I promise you this when I take their hand in mine.
To cherish each day and live it as though it could be,
The very last time.