“Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”
~ Jalaluddin Mevlana Rumi~
I can’t believe it’s been exactly three years now since you passed away. It doesn’t feel that way at all. I can remember all the details as if it was yesterday. And it still is painful, as much if not as more, because now the reality of it all has settled in. And that is so much more unsettling than anything I’ve ever had to face.
But I’ve included you in my thoughts- my morning prayers- every morning since then. I don’t think I’ve missed a day. It’s not the usual kind of prayer. It’s more like me asking you what we should do for the day. How we should treat people, what choices we will make. It’s me asking you to the guide the way. I wonder if you hear me at all when I say the words.
I still put that picture of you and me off the window sill each morning, and say this prayer or list of questions “to you” while walking over to my little wine coloured shelf near the kitchen. I place your picture of us on the shelf once I’m done. And it stays there for the whole day. And in the evening, I take the picture off of the shelf and put it back on the windowsill, and turn on the little while string of lights that rest there, so that the picture and you are illuminated. I love it when the moonlight also adds to this.
I don’t leave the picture on the windowsill during the day because
1). I don’t want it to fade from the sunlight. I don’t need more things to add to this fear of you fading. Not that you ever will from my heart or memory. But time is not always a healer, I don’t think. Sometimes, it can blur my memories. And I don’t need one of my favorite pictures of us being blurred or washed out as well.
2) I don’t want the frame or the picture to get scorched by the heat like it has done to some other little trinkety things I have put there in the past.
I think I’ve posted about this before, but I’ve added more questions to it, so I am reposting it with the updated version.
Here it goes:
What are we going to do today?
Where are we going to go?
What are we going to see?
Who are we going to meet?
What are we going to say?
What are we going to change?
What are we going to cry over?
What are we going to laugh through?
What are we going to stand up for?
What are we going to believe?
What are we going to choose?
What are we going to create?
What are we going to paint?
What are we going to sing?
What are we going to dance?
What are we going to write about?
Who are we going to date?
Who are we not going to date?
What are we going to achieve?
What are we going to dream?
Who are we going to help?
Who are we going to inspire.
And then I usually sigh and say, “Oh mom.”
My heart hurts. But I know I need to keep going to make you proud, and make this life you blessed me with worth living.
Thank you, Mom. I hope heaven is treating you well. I wish that sometimes you could show up in my dreams, the good kind of dreams, and tell me a story, or tell me how you are doing. I still worry about you.