7 years

this weekend marks the 7th year since my mother's death.
i have written about her in past years {here, here and here if you want to read}.

this weekend i am planning on spending precious time with my children.
we've been talking about grandma Michele. who she was, mentioning little things about her. of course both my children can never know what she was like - i feel that i can never represent her to the best of who she was. but i continue to try. and will always continue to try.

i love that my children mention little things about her. things i've told them. and so by me talking and telling them, they then remind me at a later stage.

perhaps we'll make bread - kneading the dough with strength, passion, love and honesty the way my mother did on our wooden bench. her strong arms moving the dough back and forth. i remember her talking to me about the ram's head shape it makes under your hands. {hmmmm. Sam wears a ram's head pendant around his neck}.

perhaps we'll sit and stitch, or try to crochet for a moment. remembering how my mum was always doing something with her hands. how she was a potter, a drawer, a gardener, a knitter / crocheter, a teacher, a listener.

perhaps we'll tickle and giggle and cuddle and laugh. the way my mum used to. generous laughter - sparkling pale blue eyes. her mouth open.

perhaps we'll walk around the house totally n.a.k.e.d.* the way my mum always used to. {Mishi particularly likes that one - being so very very similar!}. or wear a sarong - a pink faded batik piece of cloth that she wore for so many years. wrapped, with expert fingers, around her narrow body.

i will think about jumping in freezing cold water, screaming with the sheer happiness of the fright of the cold. something my mother did regularly enough - the Winter cold creek water, or ocean not yet warmed by the Summer.

we will light a candle. in the candle holder that my mother made with her hands. the exact same brand of candles that my mother always burned.

i will spend my days thinking and remembering the wonderful things my mother gave me, did for me, offered me, showed me, told me.

i will listen for snippets of information about her. about who she was, things from people who knew her better, more, differently than me.

i will laugh and love and cry and smile and pass on all that i know i am because of her. i will hold my head high.

i will have soft, silent peace in my heart.

i will miss my mother every single day for the rest of my life. and i will cherish that i was her child.

*i myself have not one single issue with saying, writing, thinking, mentioning this word. i do, though, have issues with this word potentially bringing unwanted search engine visitors.....