I suppose you know I broke my foot on Wednesday. I was in the middle of a photo shoot, and I fell off of a box. It was awesome! The crutches, not so awesome. It doesn't hurt too terribly much, though, and it makes a pretty good story. And it gave me an easy writing prompt with which to reboot my blog after a long period of silence.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. It certainly has been an interesting year. I moved, again. George died. I hit 30 years of sobriety. Your granddaughter started college and got a job. While she's testing her wings, I'm testing mine. (By the way, thank you for warning me that most mother-daughter relationships aren't as placid as ours was. That advice came in handy this year.)
This year, my faith has grown. I've learned to laugh more, and laugh more easily. I've started learning to appreciate things about myself. Most of the time, I no longer feel much "guilt for being." But I've also felt deeper loss and greater fear than I've faced since, well, probably ever.
I'm learning how to be a friend, and a daughter, and a sister. I've become reasonably responsible with money. These days, more often than not, I do what I say I'm going to do. This is all basic life stuff, but for me it's real progress. There's no way I could have grown so much if not for your unconditional love and support, and your wisdom.
I saw the New Mexico license plate at Roxx the other day. Thanks for popping into this dimension to say hello.
Thank you for leaving me your journals. They bring me great comfort, although at the moment they're packed up in some box or other. Oh, and thank you for telling me that when I ride the bus, I should always sit as close to the driver as possible. I always do.
I guess that's about it. Everything is as it should be, except that you are gone, and I am here. But then, I go back to what you told me when you were sick: "If we can be together across thousands of miles -- and we always are -- then mere death isn't going to separate us." And when I can look past the physical, I can see that you were right.
All my love,