Seven Months Today (Make that Four Plus Years). Missing You, Momby Ellen M. DuBois on 08/23/19
(I wrote this on the seven month anniversary of my mother's death. It's now been over four years and you know what? I could have written this today.)
It's been over four years today since you died. I guess I'm not-so-good at this grief thing.
I've been trying to find myself in my life since you left. I've been trying to see through the thick fog of missing you that clouds my glasses, skews my vision and makes the world look different. There are days when I see the beauty this world has to offer. The vibrant flowers, blue sky, ripples in the pond, a baby's smile, butterflies and more. When this happens, I know I am seeing the world much like you did. Those are the moments I feel I am healing. Seeing beauty in the world and the people around is how you saw things. That's how you taught us, through example, to live.
I know you wouldn't want me to crying over your transition seven months after the fact. I also know you wouldn't judge me for it either. You'd listen to me and then offer some words of wisdom that were packed with understanding, honesty and a spiritual wisdom that you seemed to always possess.
All you ever wanted was for me to be happy- for all of us to be happy and enjoy life.
I am trying to enjoy my life, mom. I am doing things that push my limits, like flying more even when I'm feeling anxious, riding in that fast car even when I might not feel up to it, and telling myself to just get out there and do it because life is short.
I loved the way you lived- but not as much as I loved you. I strive to be more like you in the way I live. I'm not doing the best job, but the effort is there. Plus, we're all different and that's what makes life and people so wonderful. That's why God made chocolate and vanilla. I'm me, not you, and you want me to be the best version of me possible.
Mom, I know you are living on the other side. I don't just believe it, I know it. That is not my struggle. It is your physical absence that is my struggle. It's not being able to hear your voice on the phone, see your smiling face, hug you and just know my mother is there- with my father.
You are with your Father - your heavenly father and I know how important that was to you. I know you have been reunited with all those you loved who made the transition before you. These are the things I must hold tight to. These are the things I must not only say but believe with every fiber of my being.
Isn't that what faith is? Isn't it more than a belief? Isn't it knowing all is well?
I can almost hear you saying: I am fine. All is well. Do not cry for me because I am home. Don't waste another day afraid or in tears because I am not physically there. I am always there and you know this. Wrap your mind and your heart around this, and you will feel me there. I am okay. It's okay. Now go on and live your life. Live it! Live it with love.
That really is the answer. L-O-V-E.
I'm trying, Mom, and will continue to try and get better. All my love to you, forever, Ellen.
About me: My name is Ellen DuBois, born and raised in Massachusetts. I love New England with its changes in seasons and natural beauty.
I'm the author of I Never Held You: Miscarriage, Grief, Healing and Recovery and Jackie's Heart. Since 2006 I've been hosting MiscarriageHelp.com, a support site for women and their families who have miscarried.
I'm published with Blue Mountain Arts, and am a contributing author to several books including: Soul Matters for Teens, Sisters, (a Blue Mountain Arts gift book), Conquering Panic and Anxiety Disorders- Success Stories, Strategies and other Good News, Romancing the Soul, More God Allows U-Turns.
I'm also known as "Miss Ellen"- a piano teacher to students from 5 to tween and beyond. Music is another passion of mine and I'm blessed to share the gift of music. I'm also a shudder bug like my mother was. I love taking pictures.