My mom touched a lot of lives and knew a lot of people. And in a quirk of fate, or circumstance, I was the person that people spoke to most. Possibly, because I was the most visible person or possibly because I appeared to be the calmest. (I think it can be frightfully intimidating to have to speak to the recently deceased’s family).
But for whatever reason a number of “strangers” spoke to me. And they largely spoke of the same things…my mother’s character as they knew it, that she was a kind, loving person. And how much she loved both me and my sister.
How proud my mom was of me. How much she loved me…and relished tales of my travels.
I wish that my mom could have told me those things.
But I understand that she couldn’t. My mom was also a very hurt soul…the things that she endured as a child were horrible. And while what she went through did not excuse what she put me through it helps with understanding…and understanding helps with compassion.
One of the things that I said after my mom died is that we each loved each other as best we could. And we did…and the thing that is sometimes difficult to remember is that humans are fallible, and sometimes it’s difficult to say things. Even if we want to.