On Saturday we celebrated my late mom's 67th birthday. And I just realised once again that whoever said that time heals all wounds obviously hasn't lost a loved one. My heart still aches and longs for my mom and best friend exactly the same way it did the day after her passing. Maybe even more. So no, time doesn't heal all wounds. It just forces you to live your life with an ever-present, dull aching sensation somewhere in the back of your being simply because you have no other choice.
I started off my mom's birthday on Saturday with a long run, just as I do every year on her birthday and Mother's Day. I ran thinking about the good times; smiling about the memories; and yes, crying about her absence. And then, about mid-way through my run, I came across the most tender, heart-warming scene. There, jogging towards me along the peaceful, beautiful river path, was a mom and her little girl, about 9 or 10 years old. They ran in silence, holding hands. And the mom lovingly placing her outside hand over their intertwined fingers. Seeing them choked me up in an instant.
Because, you see, even though my mom was never a runner (in fact, she despised running!), there was something in that mother-daughter duo on the riverbank that I could 100% associate with. The love. The support. The camaraderie. And boy, how I miss having that. How I miss having a mom. My mom. But I also saw in them little Miss K and Mister J and me. The here. The now. The opportunity for me to be that love, support and camaraderie to two of the biggest gifts I've ever received.
And although the pain of living without my mom will never go away, I thank God for the blessing of having experienced her love and support and camaraderie. And for the opportunity to take what I've received from her, and now pass it on to my own two blessings.
Thank you, Mom, for showing me how to love. May I be given the grace to be to my kids the loving, blessing of a mom that you were to me.