The scenario goes something like this. As I sat at the sewing machine that my mother once made things with, gazing out the window, with the view of the memory garden I started this summer something happened. My mind starting trickling in things I would do with my parents if I had just a short period of time with them now.
I’d ask my Dad to dance with me to country music, in the living room, the restaurant, where ever we may be.
I’d watch more old movies with my Mom, she loved them and I do too. Black and white are better than color by the way.
I’d ask them each the hard questions. The questions that will never be answered about my childhood, their life, etc.
I’d visit more.
I’d explain how they raised me affected me in hopes to visit more about it with them.
I’d hold their hands.
I’d take notes as we looked through the old photographs and write stories from what they might say.
I wouldn’t just do the easy, the fun, the okay things with them. I’d do the hard, the healing, the memory making things. I’d combine them to make a mixture of our story as parent and child.
I’d ask them if they knew I loved them. I’d make sure they knew before we went our separate ways.
I’d tell them how much their grandchildren are making me a better person and how much the family misses them.
I’d hug them. I’d hug them as long as I possibly could.
This won’t happen, I know. I won’t get the opportunity to sit down with them, visit with them, to just be with them. But writing this post helped in this journey I’m still on. The journey of losing a parent (or two). Words help me process my feelings and I’m hoping someone else can take something from my words as well. To feel less alone, less unsure, less whatever they are feeling. Perhaps to inspire to connect with the loved one they haven’t for awhile.
Grace is a gift,
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