Contemplation

Monday, November 17, 2014

Fleeting Feelings-Memorable Moments

Love nourishes both today and all the moments of our tomorrows
~Deleta Avalon

[First published over two years ago. I'm moving it up the "blog ladder" because 81 years ago today, November 17, 1933 is when my parents married. They nourished each other with mutual love and respect for over 61 years, and nourished my brother and me from our births to their deaths. Dad died in 1994 and Mom died in 1998. I miss them both, every single day.]

There are times when my mother’s presence is so physically felt I am overcome with joy—then overwhelmed with sadness when I come out of reverie, back to the reality of a physical world in which she is no longer a part.

Shopping at a local grocery store two months ago, I reached into a refrigerated case for a carton of orange juice. A small, much older woman in front of me began to reach for a carton at the same time. She hesitated then drew her hand back. Her white hair, the slight hesitation, her body shape and size, were exactly those of my mother.

We were standing within six inches of each other. I had such a need, such a powerful and present need to put my arms around that woman, or at least touch her shoulder, give her a smile. Yet, I didn’t do that—I wish I had. Instead, with tears welling in my eyes, I moved away and continued shopping. I felt certain the woman would have accepted my touch and I hoped an opportunity such as that presented itself again—vowing I would not hold back.

However, almost the same situation arose last week and I did not touch this older woman either, nor did I speak to her. My eyes grew moist when she looked up at me, smiled and apologized for being in my way (of course, she wasn't).
I could only offer my own slight smile in return; then she moved slowly down the aisle, the muffled thump, thump of her aluminum walker noting her labored movement. Almost in a daze, I watched until she turned the corner.

Blurred vision made reading my shopping list literally impossible. Even if I had been able to read it, my mind had skipped far, far away from that mundane task.

I remember the comforting sense of safety and love I felt when my mother held me in her strong and able arms; and I remember how I felt when I enfolded her small, birdlike, failing body in my arms.

I didn’t know it would be our last time to touch.  

What if you knew you’d be the last to touch someone?
What would people look like if we could see them as they are,
soaked in honey, stung and swollen, reckless, pinned against time? 
~ Ellen Bass – “If You Knew”



1 comment:

  1. Another touching piece of writing and one with which I can truly identify. Thank you for this.

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