The words that have tumbled out of my mouth over the past few weeks, they are ones that are not unfamiliar to me. They are words that you may not have said verbatim, but I have felt them by the journal that I held in my hands, the one signed by you and Dad, “For your wonderful writing!” it said. I was only eight. And I know that you said them to me Saturday morning swim meet after Saturday morning swim meet, and all those orchestra rehearsals and concerts too. And I know that you said them in the trip that you, and I, and Ari took to Boston, to visit a school twelve-hundred-ninety-three miles from you. And I know that you said them when you prayed over my husband and me, your hand, that same hand that would smooth my fevered face or my overtired tears, all the while snuggled up to me on my twin-size bed. In the back of my mind, far, far behind my sadness or my frustration, I would wonder if you would fall off the edge of the bed, but you never did, you just lay there until my head, pounding from dehydration and child/teengage/adult frustration was surrounded by silence. Just that hand smoothing caresses across my face that would later go on to rest, in prayer, on wedding dress lace. And I know that you said them when we talked last week, me feeling miffed from my last session of group therapy. They sounded different but the words were there, covered by your propelling and genuine nudge to remind me that “I’m a bravey.”
To you, I have said these words in no uncertain terms, sprinkled into forty-five minute phone calls and the five minute ones too, I have said these words impressed on my soul and so utterly impressed by you. I have said these words because I can’t get over your beauty and your resilience, your stubborn hope and your worst-case-scenario to your making-the-most-of-this transilience. My words, they can’t wrap around your spirit. A spirit aged by sorrow but painted in faithful promises and caresses. A spirit who knows life, not the instagram-scroll-type but the bury-your-husband-forevermore-type. A spirit that is still wild, but in a do-your-finances-on-a-Saturday-before-you-play way. A spirit of love and honesty. A spirit of growth. And so, it is with this in mind that I say what you and Dad have been saying to me up to this very day. Though the circumstances are never what we want, your soul, your spirit, they can carry the lot. Mom, from one inspired woman to another - “I love the woman that you’re becoming.”