Today marks the one year anniversary of my mother’s passing. I can’t believe how quickly the time has passed, and how much I still miss her. Not a day passes that I don’t think of her, and feel the ache of the void that her passing has left in my life.
We lived three thousand miles apart, and yet we would speak to each other every few days. I could share everything with my mother and know that although she may well give me a piece of her mind, that she would still love me without condition. There is nothing quite like a mother’s love.
After the funeral, friends and family had gathered at my mother’s home. The realization that I would now be ‘alone’ in the world, orphaned, hit home and I mentioned that I would now have to ‘grow up.’ While some where quick to assume that I meant that I now needed to behave like an adult, estimating that I was somehow deficient in that area, that is not what I had meant. Although I’ve been shouldering the responsibilities of an adult for more than two decades, my mother’s passing, to me, marked the end of an era and the beginning of a new one. Now it was my turn to be to my child all that my mother had been to me, more or less.
While my mother had been a strict disciplinarian, she was an incredibly fair woman, whose sense of righteousness was inarguably accurate. Her honesty was not always welcome, by myself and many others, but she never hurled anything at you that wasn’t truth, and oftentimes would force you to reflect. Her criticism, at least toward everyone but me, was not corrupted by any agenda. She simply expressed her uncannily exact assessment of what was going on. With me, however, she would go further, in an attempt to bring home the importance of the lessons that I had to learn; she wanted to make sure that I could carry on without her. To counter, however, she would never refuse help when I needed it, in whatever capacity. She never abandoned me, in a way only a mother can fully comprehend.
And yet, we are who we are, in all our glory. I have much to offer, and yet my shortcomings are glaringly self-evident (at least to me). I realize that I still can put my foot in my mouth, at the ripe old age of forty, even though I thought I was beyond such blunders, and that I have a long way to go to become the person that I one day hope to be. And yet, who is perfect? It has always been my opinion that it takes more courage to look at ones own faults than it does to find fault in others… and even more courage to attempt to correct those faults within ourselves and be accepting and forgiving of the faults of others.
Meanwhile, I stagger on, and hope that I don’t knock too much china off the shelves, and that my good endeavors outweight my not so favorable ones.
Isten veled, Anyu. Öröké szeretlek.