Since Day 365 I have been haunted by Art. It’s like making it to that day I somehow expected that he’d show up at the door and yell “Just Kidding!” …at which point I would beat him to a pulp and then cover every bloody inch of him with kisses. After Day 367 that fact that he's not coming back is more real, almost tangible. And it makes me so very, very sad. It’s like this low level hum, not quiet irritating, not quite clear, but there, vibrating fast of enough for me to know it’s present, not loud enough to make me crumble. It seems to make my movements, my speech and my joy, not less bright but well, less something more empty perhaps. Like they are in a shadow.
This Mother’s Day I will honor the way good, the bad and the way ugly of our 14 year marriage.
And next Mother’s Day
When I will say "three years ago,"
I will go to the mountains with mimosa’s and cheese and crackers packed by me but enveloped in his love.)
Happy Mother’s Day to me.
Happy Mother’s Day to you.
Happy Mother’s Day to all of us.
We matter more than we will ever know.