Mothers Day Wish~


As another year hits, I see many gifts I would love to take to my mom for Mothers Day. More importantly, how hugging her and talking with her would make me feel and fix any problem I have.

I miss my mom and my dad every day, always talk about funny stories of them, and say a prayer in a moment of silence. Although none of those things will ever change the fact I lost my best friend, my idol, my therapist, my mother. She will forever live in me.

Listening to Willie Nelson I think of how much mom admired him. The only country artist she enjoyed country music from. One year she was looking for a genuine Willie concert t-shirt of a particular year. The loopholes I jumped through, the bids I placed to find it was all worth the look on her face.
I wish I could have another chance to find something she wanted.

The inevitable loss of my mom was a dreaded lingering spirit hanging over my shoulder my entire life, and now I am living it. Any and all who know and love me always knew it was my greatest fear. I am here.

Time makes no difference when the person was that important.

I know her well enough that she would tell me I’m doing a good job. I am a good mother, and not a ball of depression for others. I relive the happy times, and when I need to cry or mourn I keep it to myself. Just the way she taught me how she did it.

At the end of her life I asked her, as I was overwhelmed with weakness, “Mom how will I get through you not being here?” I was sincere in needing to know what to do. Her green eyes looked into my green eyes to matter of factly state, “It’s a part of life. You lose me, Drew loses you. You have to get through it, pumpkin.” That was just like her thinking of others. I feel selfish now to think of that question, her being on her death bed, giving me coping advice. I’d give anything for her to know me as the adult woman I am now. Closer to 50, unselfish, private, just as she so eloquently lived and taught me to turn into someday.

If you are one of the blessed to be my age and still have your mom; get up early, let the sunshine hit your face, fill your car with whatever she would love, and go look into her eyes. I promise you, the day will come where the latter will be what you miss the most.

What’ll I do
With just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When I’m alone
With only dreams of you
That won’t come true
What’ll I do?

About Donda Danforth

I am the product of lifelong assorted novels in the works. Amateur music producer with official background. Long time freelance writer and ghost writer. Working to tell the truths and tales to the abuse and survival of cancer, Lyme disease, misdiagnoses, adolescent marriage, narcissistic abuse, and the humor that accompanies such a diverse list.
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