Today, I remembered Mum, as it was this day last year she left us. I remembered the week before, as she readied us for her leaving and I remembered the previous two years and the toll they took on her.
Then, as I thought of her I remembered her fighting spirit. Her never giving up. Her compassionate and caring nature. Her laughter and wicked sense of humour.
In the past week I’ve felt far removed from Mum, the thought of not being able to go ‘home,’ or call to her grave on her anniversary, due to this virus, difficult to bear. Every day I searched for her, delighting in a falling white feather or a small robin landing beside me. Every day I missed her.
This morning I sat and watched online, the mass for her in her local church, knowing she would have loved it but sad she was not here watching it with us. Afterwards, I packed up the car and drove off, unable to face an ordinary day.
As we drove home the poem ‘Do Not Stand by my Grave and Weep, by Mary Elizabeth Frye came to mind. I’d read it to Mum on one occasion and she’d said, ‘That is the poem for me.’
So, for the day that is in it Mum, here it is.
Do Not Stand by my Grave and Weep.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
I can’t promise not to stand at your grave and weep some day in the future Mum, but I did enjoy our trip out today. xxx