Last night I dreamed about Mom. She’s been gone for twenty-five years and it was bittersweet to see her face again like it was just yesterday when I saw her last. We never lose that place in our hearts that our mom occupies.
In the dream it was her birthday and we were getting ready for a big birthday celebration. In reality, I’m not aware of her ever having a big celebration in her honor. She was a private woman, fun-loving in her own way. She didn’t share her thoughts and feelings openly; those few times I can remember doing so are like nuggets of gold in my memories.
She had simple dreams, never travelled far from home, and went without so her children could go with. She wasn’t a powerful career-woman and wasn’t wealthy. She married at eighteen, was widowed at fifty-three, and died at fifty-five.
Her life was all too short but the impression she left remains. I speak of her to my children often, though as time goes by their memory of her is fading. I like to think that I am keeping her alive in their hearts by sharing stories and memories that will become a part of them as well.