It may seem weird, but the thing that bothered me the most when she was dying was the fear of forgetting her once she was gone.
Leave it to me to always be worried about tomorrow.
Even driving to Mom and Dad's house during mom's bedside vigil one night, I remember crying on the phone to my dear friend Leslie about how afraid I was of forgetting her. I knew she was going to die soon, and what crushed me the most were the years ahead, the perceivable long life I still had to live. What would my thoughts of her be like when I was, Lord willing, 80? Would the passage of time dull my recall down to just a few facts? That is, after all, what time does, doesn't it? Slowly but surely makes sharp things fuzzy. Blurs present reality, with its sights, smells, feelings, and thoughts, into a collection of faint memories, minus the sights, the smells, the feelings and thoughts.
But--
Not if I write.
Time can't steal what's written down.
I have more stories to record about Mom: Our Thursdays together, her vocabulary, her run-in with my third-grade teacher, our shared compassion for brain tumor patient and high school friend Daniel O'Neal, her visits to Camp Thomsen, her incomparable humor.
I realize now why the year anniversary of her passing was so hard, and this is it. Each passing day takes me further away from when I last saw her. As the years pile on, so I'm afraid will the forgetfulness.
But, like Leslie assured me on the phone that night, I pray the Holy Spirit will bring things to mind even when time threatens to do the opposite.
And let's be honest: Anne Hardison is pretty unforgettable.
I gave it a go here on the blog last year, and Lord willing, I'm going to continue.
Here's to writing things down.
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| Mom and Me. Hilton Head. 2000 |
I love your honesty. You won't forget. My grandma died when I was seven, and I remember so many things with incredible vividness: gingerbread cookies and peanut-butter-covered pinecone bird-feeders, walking the dogs and playing in the creek, her smile, the way she told stories. Some of them I've written down, and some are simply stored in my heart. I think the memories are a gift straight from heaven, because at that young age, there's no way I should be able to remember so much. And you never stop missing them, or looking forward to seeing them again, or being excited about getting a tour of heaven from them someday. :)
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