Edge's post today stirred me. (He does that ya know!)

I read it and went back to work, but his words stayed with me. The story he told enveloped me and took me back to a time past but still with me too.

I remember like yesterday those days. I remember the doctor talk, the white coats and rich shoes. I remember the tubes and machines and bags hanging - some for fluid going in, some for fluid going out. Clear. Red. Yellow.

I remember my Mother's eyes.

I remember people looking away, fidgeting because the discomfort of not knowing what to say was unbearable for them.

I knew from the day I got that phone call - before they even knew what it was - that this unknown thing was going to be what took her from us. I knew. It wasn't that I didn't have hope - of course I hoped. But in the depths of me, was a voice preparing me for letting go. I never did, really. I haven't still, and... reading that post this morning reassured me, I don't want to.

More than the agony of the helplessness, the weight of fear, the sharp penetrating pain of loss, there is a quietly accepting peace that washes over me now. I feel a faith in the circle of life and the healing power of love - both in fighting an illness and in the graceful crossing over when that time comes.

It does not mean if I had an ill child that I'd happily give him up or lose him without anger. I cannot fathom how I might cope with that. But reading Edge's post, reliving the moments so clear in my heart and mind, made me feel closer to my Mom. I miss her terribly, everyday, but not turning away from the experience of her - that feels powerful to me.

Thanks Mr. Edge.

Mama, Can You Hear Me?

I can't believe it's been 8 years. I knew what today was the moment my eyes fluttered open, it never escapes me. But when I looked at the calendar - 2006 - GOD! 2006!!! Eight years!

January 16, 1998. at 6:02 pm, my Mother's Spirit left her body here on Earth for what I hope is a better place - an existence without pain, fear, loneliness, loss.

The older I get, the more I appreciate my Mother - who was very different than I am. I long for her advice, her laugh, her warmth. My children's lives would be richer too if she were still here, no question about it.

I miss you Mama.