Sunday, October 16, 2011


This weekend was hard. Gary was away, and it was the first time I was really alone for any extended amount of time since Mom passed. And today was the first day I didn't have a packed agenda for myself. I did that intentionally, knowing I needed the downtime. But it was hard.

Lately I find myself tearing up constantly, triggered by anything that strikes me as beautiful. I think this is quite normal in most pregnancies and it's compounded by the fact that I am finally able to read pregnancy related books. I have absolutely no interest in What to Expect, the pregnancy advice books, the fetal development charts, etc. Once I got home to NY, I picked up Spiritual Midwifery and devoured the birth stories. I cried at every one. But since I do most of my reading on the subway, the crying is limited to what I can blink away and still go to work. It's not just birth stories; today walking through Soho, I watched a woman in her mid forties with her mom. They were window shopping and admiring the many tables of jewelry on the streets and it reminded me of me and my mom and how much she would have loved a day like today in Soho. Tear up, blink rapidly, go on with my day.

The thing that is most salient to me is that she's gone. Everyone has been telling me how she'll always be with me, how I'll feel her presence every day. And that is such bullshit. I feel her absence every day. I see what I'm missing, what she's missing. And that's all I can see sometimes.

1 comment:

  1. At Rosh Hashanah services, sitting there with you and dad and song, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of mom's absence. She had always been there with us. I had always heard a melody from her chest. She would always put her hand on my shoulders. It was such an enormous feeling that I couldn't hold in my tears. Always, she had been there- now, never again.

    I couldn't stop thinking about that feeling. It was so intense and so deeply sad. As I was trying to fall asleep I realized that it was not her absence that I was feeling. It was her presence.

    It is not a tangible presence. And it is not the type of presence I was hoping to feel. But the feeling of her absence is only created by her presence in the past. And when we feel her absence, we are bringing the past to the present. And regardless of how we define this feeling, she fills it completely. And it always makes me cry.

    We must create space and time to feel her, because it is no longer up to her to be a part of our lives. If we want to feel her, then we must choose to. We must remember the touch of her hands on our shoulders and the tone of her humming voice. We must remember how much she loved spending a day window shopping with you.

    As time wears on, and our last interaction with her grows further and further away, know the past is always with us. It defines us.

    If you want to feel her absence, then feel it. If you want to feel her presence, then feel it. It is up to us now.

    I love you.