Dear Mom (Nov 13/17)

Mon, Nov 13/17

Dear Mom,

It is Monday morning and I'm back with my cup of coffee and a blank page in front of me. Let's see where this goes...

My mind feels more restful as this new week begins. I've purged my thoughts, spent time enjoying my own company and revelled in a long weekend at home. It has been just what I needed.

I spent one day reading about cats while I simply sat in the living room and enjoyed our little cat family. I opened the blinds, let the day shine through and simply soaked up the sun (I honestly have no idea what the weather or sky was like that day - I just know that I basked in it).

It felt very good to be still.

I spent another day in "your room". I cannot honestly remember what I may or may not have accomplished that day. It was a day sprinkled with a small dose of family and friends. Dale took me out for breakfast and a smattering of email and text messages were generously sprinkled throughout the day.

It was my birthday.

I'm grateful birthdays aren't a big thing in our little world. They are just another day with perhaps a few more messages from the outside world, while everything else remains the same.

It was my first birthday without you. Ever.

I thought this new reality may hit me in some way. But it didn't. Yes, you always ensured you called each of us on our birthday. That was your way. Yes, you always sent a birthday card with a "gift" enclosed. I thought I may notice your absence more. But I didn't.

I am grateful for the way we spent your last gift to us. You gave our family a Christmas cheque, to do with as we pleased. I asked Kurt for a suggestion and it was his idea to spend it as a family and go out for supper together.

Our little family does not come together as a unit very often, so your gift was interspersed throughout the year. Various groupings gathered and your gift united and fed us on numerous occasions. I believe the last occasion was for Wes' birthday in August.

We stretched out your gift from December to August.

Each time we used your gift, you were brought into the gathering with us. Each time we dined, courtesy of you, was a gift unto itself.

We don't "do" birthdays up in a grand way within our little family. I am more grateful for that this year than any other.

A supposedly special day without you was just like any other day and all the days that preceded it. You were the reason for my being. You have shown up in some capacity every birthday since then. But more importantly, you showed up just like any other day of the year.

No, you didn't phone me on my birthday this year. But do you know what? That isn't the phone call I miss.

Your calls had been on a gradual decline this past year. I haven't had a chance to miss your calls because I had already been weaned away from expecting to hear from you.

The last leg of your journey home may have unofficially began a year ago. Maybe longer than that. We'll never know.

As I gravitated towards "your room" as the weekend progressed, I thought less of "a year ago" and more about the years that preceded the last one.

I have integrated your belongings into our home and there isn't an excess. In fact, I just realized what has happened ...

When I started culling through the excess within our home last year, I commented that I felt like I was making room for change. I wrote this just over a year ago:

"I just keep looking within these walls of ours and hear "Purge and release" and "Make room for change". If I empty it, they will come ...

I'm living in "The Field House of Dreams". I don't know where I'm going but I know what I must do next. That is enough for now."

Mom, I have just realized that I was making room for "you". You didn't move in with me in a physical sense when I made the offer. But I had made room for you to move in with me now.

Our home was empty and generic. It didn't have any special flair or sense of individuality. As I walked down our halls and looked for a spot for something that had belonged to you, I had an empty canvas to fill with what was once yours.

Last year, I had made room for "you".

Your presence is all around me and it is a comfort. I have found myself gazing out our living room window looking for a rabbit. Rabbits don't come to call around here, the way they do at your place. But I look anyway.

This morning I looked out and I found tracks in the snow:

Could it be?

  

Did a rabbit hop into our yard, circle the tree and keep right on hopping?

Did you send me a rabbit, Mom? Do you wield such a power?

Rabbits, you and me. We have that connection. No matter how a rabbit may find its way into my world, I will always think of my summer with you and the rabbits who adopted you and your yard.

Your rabbits. Such a quiet presence, easily frightened off yet they brought such calm, understated joy.

I feel a tranquility within our home now that your belongings are finding a new home here. It is quiet. It is understated. It is you.

Thanks for moving in with me, Mom. This feels right ...

All my love,

Colleen 

P.S. Just as I went to post this, your wind chimes started to chime. This is the first time I have heard them since they were hung yesterday. 

I stood and watched as they went from moving with great force and intention, until they stilled. 

I looked up at the trees and the leaves are moving so it isn't a windless day. But the chimes became still, then tinkled quietly, then started moving with intention again. 

It feels so good to hear your chimes in the background of my morning. It's probably just the wind ... but I felt you with me again. And it was good.