Warm, homemade Tapioca Pudding.
There are times when I get an urge to cook or bake something like Tapioca Pudding. I never think much of it while in the process itself but, at some point I find myself smiling for no reason and, then, when I stop to think about it, she's there.
Perennial flowers in Spring and Summer.
Living in New England through long, cold winters, there are few things that can make me smile with wonder like a kid on Christmas morning. Walking through the yard in the Spring and reacquainting myself with Perennials as they pop up from the flat, brown ground like magic is one of those things. As I stop and enjoy the moment, she's there.
My Mother passed away on May 23, 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer. Hers was pretty well advanced at diagnosis. They tried, unsuccessfully, to do a Whipple procedure to remove the Cancer and she died 18 months later. We did not have a fantastic relationship at her death but we were geographically close and, therefore, I was with her for a lot of the year and a half from diagnosis to death.
To say I was not at my best would be an understatement since my Stepmother had died, from inoperable Lung Cancer three weeks before my Mom was diagnosed. For my Stepmother, I provided roughly 75% (maybe more) of her in home care as directed by the Visiting Nurses who would come in once a week or so. She was diagnosed late in May of 2007 and died early in November of 2007. The year the Red Sox won their second World Championship in four years. My husband and I went to Game Two with friends at Fenway Park. It was the first time I'd taken off from caring for her in months. That night, she would try to get up, by herself, to go to the portable toilet in her bedroom. She fell and, in doing so, broke her hip since the Cancer had spread through her bones. She was gone roughly a week later.
At any rate, it's safe to say I was an emotional mess from May 2007 through May 2009, the time from diagnosis to death of both.
For the next year, I was angry. Very angry. Angry that my Mom was far from perfect, angry that my Father and Step-siblings did the least amount to help care for my Stepmother as was humanly possible. Angry that I missed the better part of two years of my kids growing up while I was busy taking care of these two women. Angry that my husband had to take over doing just about everything at home during that time. He did it all without question but I always felt like I was letting him, the girls and myself down.
Two years out, I started remembering good things and forgetting bad things and quietly started mourning the loss of my mother.
Now, more than four years later, things are coming around again. Things like making homemade Tapioca Pudding and watching flowers come up in Spring. These things are every bit to me a warm hug as they are food or beautiful accents to our yard. My Mom is with me.
When I feel my Mother there, whether she's in my head or actually floating around the house, it gives me solace. It is stronger and more tangible than anything any organized religion has ever been able to provide. It melts off the candy coating of a cliché and turns it in to something personal and trustworthy. Something I will keep with me always.
Finally, it makes me smile a lot more at the experiences with my own daughters. I love it because I know that some day, when they're cooking or baking or even when they're laughing at a joke together, I will be with my girls.
To me, that's religion coming around again.
