Tribute to my Mother

April ninth 2012, marks the first-year anniversary of my mother’s death. So much goes through my mind in memory of her that it is hard to know where to begin. My heart is mixed with sadness and feeling grateful to have shared a part of my life with her.

Our relationship was fraught with difficulty, stormy to say the least. The screams, the fights, the unkind words, the butting head… We were so much alike and yet so different; her, living a life that included choices she made that brought regret and emotional turmoil; and me, wanting to be what I could possibly be, while struggling to gain the tools to allow me to walk my own path.

My mother’s life was a difficult one, and she never gave to herself in a way that would allow her to feel worthy of her place in this world. She never believed she was deserving of self-love, never having learned to take care of herself, to put herself on a higher rung of the emotional ladder. She suffered greatly.

In her brief career as a family support worker, she was known for her good work in helping others. She worked her way up without formal education and, deservingly, took pride in her accomplishment.

She endured many years of incredible hardship in certain family problems, and never gave up on the people involved. She was kind and generous in ways she knew how, and despite the difficulty, she continued giving.

Later in her life, she began to share some of her poetry, inspired by faith she developed in the higher power. Through a series of serious illnesses through her adult life, along with family strife, her poems became her voice, and prayer became a comforting place to lay her head.

Why could she not see the gifts and beauty she beheld within her?

How much has changed in my thoughts toward her now that she is gone. Now, I have only myself to contend with, and it has been a lesson in humility that I have not understood until recently. It has brought me clarity and understanding, and a new appreciation for the woman who gave me life and did what she felt best.

To have spent more time sitting with my mother, listening to her stories, would have been one of the best things I could have done for her, and for me, and I regret not doing so. Even though we all have our stories of painful lessons in life, I think that to be able to share with those we are closest to would be a treasure indeed. If we really come from a place of love, we could never judge another again.

I wear my battle scars like a badge of honour, and hold my visit with my mother in this life, locked deep in my heart. I wish I could have said this to her when she was alive.

I honour and share what I have discovered to be a treasure in my relationship with her, of which I can be truly proud.

I love you mother. Until we meet again, in another life.