Reading time: 2 minutes
The two most significant days in each of our lives are the day we are born and the day we die. These form the front and back cover of our unique and fascinating book of life. Everything on the pages in between is a story, bound together with glue at the seams, filled with a lifetime of experiences of love, joy, sadness and, above all, personal growth.
We grow from babies to children to young adults to adults. And when our bodies stop growing and slowly start contracting as we age or become ill, we then have the choice to continue growing on the inside. To enjoy the wisdom that comes with age, experience and mistakes we have made. To be thankful for those mistakes and what they have taught us. To learn from life’s challenges and inevitable curveballs.
I haven’t experienced many back covers closing in my lifetime, but 2017 was a year of one book after another being closed. And while it is easy to put books on a shelf and let them gather dust over the years, there is one very important book I want to celebrate today. A book whose beautiful cover was crafted 66 years ago on December 15, 1951 and whose back cover was prematurely closed on March 4, 2017. A book I would read over and over and over again, because there are so many stories of love, creativity, adventure and growth within it.
I love you more than ever Mom. You had worried that people would forget you as they move on with their lives. For me, the opposite could not be more true. While I am trying hard to find contentment in a life without your physical presence, to grow through this experience, I am realising that life without you isn’t possible. I will never forget you, or what your life meant and still means to me, and to those whose hearts you still live within. December 15 will always be your birthday, and your book will always be sitting warmly, prominently on a shelf in my heart.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I am forever grateful you were born.
It seems my thoughts and feelings about my Mom's death prefer to express themselves in the form of poetry, something I haven't written much of since my teens. I'll be playing a card game with the kids, or trying to fall asleep at night, when suddenly words come flowing into my head. I stop what I am doing to grab my journal (I have many; the one titled "Life is a Journey, not a Destination" feels fitting for poetry) and let the words flow to paper.
I've asked myself many times why I even bother posting my thoughts. The answer is an honest "I don't know", but I decide to let intuition guide me and not worry about who is going to read it, and whether it will mean anything to anyone. It means something to me.
Originally written on April 14, 2017:
I've asked myself a million times
Why her? Why now? Why this?
She still had so much life left to live
So much love left to give
The question swirls in my mind, my heart, my soul
It just swirls, and swirls, and swirls
Until I see that there is no answer why
My dear Mom had to die
Why her? Why now? Why this?
It simply just is.
The answers hurts my mind, my heart, my soul
But also helps me work on letting go, and go, and go
I love you so, so much Mom.
Michelle Borner, a mom on 23 missions, blogs about her Deep Thoughts on a wide range of topics from parenting to conscious living to lessons from brain cancer.
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