Loss has a way.
Reaching into your chest in its icy way, Loss has a way of grabbing hold of your heart and clutching it with a cold hand.
Loss has a way of escaping that closet that took nearly two years for you to stuff it into, trying desperately to make sure all of its dark corners remain pushed inside. Not sticking out.
Yesterday, an email appeared in my inbox. My mother, who passed away two years ago in April, left behind two sisters- my aunts. Apparently, one of them had recently run across a beautiful and eloquent card my mom had written, dated July 11, 2016. My aunt had scanned it and emailed it to me.
Casting my eyes on the familiar handwriting, I simultaneously felt frigid fingers begin to grip my heart, a discomforting lump form in my throat, water press into my tear ducts. But while none of this felt physically pleasing, my memory and brain did finally arrive, coming to my rescue. My mother’s words, as I read them…they were her. Generous. Kind. Funny. And so loving.
Suddenly an image of her arose into my mind’s eye. And as I read the last words on the card:
Love you Peg. You are a special wonderful person. Love, Donna
This was my mom. Even though she’d sent an everyday thank you card, she never forgot to be herself. The fingers warmed. Perhaps it was no longer Loss gripping my heart.
Perhaps it was my mom holding it.