Of course, those of you who know she's been dead since 1991 may be a little surprised. She would have been 73. She will, of course, never be old. But that would have been true no matter what had befallen her.
I am not one of those cemetery goers. It doesn't work for me, because I don't believe my mother is there, and more importantly, I don't think she believes it either.
When my mother passed, some of my family were actually annoyed that I did not think of her as dead. She was still speaking to me a lot at that point, coming into my dreams and amending a list that she was making of things she wanted *fixed*.
The aunts and uncles found my attitude a little disrespectful, I think, showing conclusively that they had never understood me, my mother or the nature of our relationship. My brother would like to have dismissed it as me being *new agey* except he had lived with me most of his life. After about three weeks, he called and told me she had come to him. "Stop asking your sister why I spend so much time with her," she told him. "The waiting room I'm in is in New Jersey." He was fine with it then.
We spoke briefly today. I made an eggcream (low carb). She is amused to find me writing at last, and likes the way I make sentences come together, though she is not interested in most of my subject matter. She likes the bird poems I wrote last year.
"We may not do this again" she tells me. "I barely managed it this time. I've already moved on." Still, I should make something special for Samhain.
Your mother's love's a blessing, no matter where you roam,
Keep her while she's living, for you'll miss her when she's gone;
Love her as in childhood, when feeble, old and grey,
For you'll never miss your mother love till she's buried beneath the clay.