Tuesday, December 30, 2014
I'm lying next to Savannah and scratching her back, warm with fever. Looking out the window I am thinking about my Mom. And I'm not thinking about how horrible her accident was (though it was) or feeling the deep stab of her absence. No, I am thinking about how incredibly close I feel to her right now and how I know her now better than ever as a mother. I understand how she loved and the intensity of her love. I understand the fun she had with us kids, how important it was to show us a beautiful life. I understand the sacrifices, the way she was pulled in all directions at the same time, her pride in her family and her desire to keep her kids close to her and each other. Her need to be seen as an individual. Her need to express her creativity. I get her, I really do. Having Littles of my own has eased the ache of my mom's death. When my littles lay their head on my chest or kiss me or tell me they want me or love me or draw me a sweet picture or love letter or do something kind to another Little then I think back to when I did the same with my mom and instantly I am transported back to that time or feeling of comfort. This also works reverse in less lovely situations like when My Littles argue with each other or with me and then I think of the pain on my face and in my heart which reminds me of the look of pain and frustration on my mom's face all those times way back when. I feel her close to me in all of these reminiscings or little time travels. I feel her with me. And I am sure as My Littles grow I'll understand her more, love her so much more, miss her even more.