For My Mother
This post is perhaps a bit premature. Nine days premature. But today is my birthday. And this is my birthday gift to myself. It is the recognition of the person that, as part of a pair, provided me the vehicle for the gift of life. I stand in recognition of that gift and the countless blessings I have been further gifted in my 60 years.
This post is for my mother, Judith Ann Douglass. She was Judy to most, always “Mom” to me. So she remains.
On this day I am thinking of you, Mom. You are in my heart and on my mind as I turn the corner of adulthood into the aged. As I reflect back over my life my memories took me back this morning to you. I’m older now and the hope is that I am somewhat wiser. Wiser that, if you were still here on this Earth, I would have paid you more attention in your waning years than I actually did.
I suppose we all have regrets we sow in the course of our lives that become the karma we must live out in the next life. But as I sit here typing, I feel your presence. From my heart and mind to the words I type in this ahrimanic device I “speak” as if you sit across from me – and I know you are here. With you here, please speak to my heart and I will hear. I will know.
I don’t want this to be a dirge, so I won’t repeat all of the apologies I have expressed to you since you left this Earth to travel back to the Father. In my more mature spiritual understanding, I know it may be a while until your return, so in the mean time, please sit with me and enjoy my words. It’s funny how, when someone forgives you for the wrongs you have done them, it is ever more difficult to forgive oneself. But that is the karmic effect of a conscience I suppose. Thank you for your forgiveness.
As a kind of wrapper around the memories I’d like to share with you, I look back to when you were young, when your life was magical; When your father was still alive, young, and strong. I am proud to bear his name in my middle name. I am thankful for my given name Kenneth. Though, I have to tell ya, I did some digging years ago and found that, during the years Alan and I got our names, the most popular toy on the market was Barbie. Her male friends? Ken and Alan. Hmmmm…. Makes one wonder LOL.
I love that photo. To my knowledge it’s the only one I have of your father. I know losing him not too many years after that photo was taken affected you very deeply. I’m sorry for that – sorry I never really understood nor appreciated that about you. It’s a shame that during life we often fail to take the time and effort necessary to really get to know those we love.
Now I’ll skip many years into the future and share one of the first photos of me.
Can’t say I remember that day. I do, however, remember the silly faces you used to make. I’m almost positive you learned them from Uncle John.
Then there was that amazing man you married – good ‘ol Dad. The man that taught me to be honest, respectful and loving. Not only of family but of all people. He was the model I strive to live up to even to this day. He loved you Mom. I know you know that. And I do understand how hard it was to lose him when you were still young and he far too young to leave. He didn’t want to – I remember reading that on his face as he lay in his own bed only hours before he was gone. But it was your blessing that allowed him the courage to let go. I know he deeply appreciated that.
I’m gonna wrap up this short walk down memory lane with one more photo from the past: Our family in your prime. Gresham Street in Sepulveda. You and Dad provided an awesome home for us three. Thank you both.
I have a memory I often reflect upon. You and I were in the car driving somewhere – most likely to the doctor’s, sickly child that I was. There was a song that came on the radio that both of us, in turn, said we liked. That was about 1972 and I was probably 10 or 11. The song was “Miss American Pie.” I remember how special it was to know you liked a song that I liked as we sang together.
Just before I sat down to write this post, I looked up the lyrics to the song. It begins like this:
A long, long time ago
I can still remember how that music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they’d be happy for a whileBut February made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn’t take one more stepI can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
The second verse made me shiver. You left us in February of 2015 – three months short of your 79th birthday. Then the following verse, the widowed bride. I cried when Dad died. I cried when you died. Like my brothers, I miss you both so much. At 60 I am still that little kid who now and then got into mischief. I’m still that little kid deep inside that listens to your guidance.
When Erin and I got home after your funeral to our home in Boise, we both felt you there. When we first walked in the house the air was, well, different. It was, as I understand it now, the atmosphere left behind in the wake of a heavenly visit. It was crisp, a crispness that was holy, other-worldly. And right away both Erin and I knew you had visited, no doubt by the guiding hand of your Angel. Thank you, too, for that visit. I treasure not only the memory, but the experience.
I understand one way we can help those we know who have passed back into the astral realms is to read spiritual material to them – as if they sit present with us. I will remember this. I will remember to do this when I pick up yet another book to read. I know I don’t have to read aloud, for you are ever in my heart and mind.
I love you, Mom. Thanks for all that you were, and are, to me and to all who know and love you. I feel funny finishing this post, as there is so much more to say. All things end I suppose. However, Love endures. My love for you is forever.
I leave you now with that special song. I pray whoever might play it, when it is played, you hear it and are comforted. It is “our” song. And you will always be my “Miss America.”
Judith Ann Douglass, 1936 – 2015. Happy Birthday, Mom – May 26… We will meet again in the next round of life – of that there is no doubt.