Dear Mum,
I was shopping and you were on my mind. It’s hard for you to not be on my mind. Recently there’s so much I want to talk to you about, and the missing never seems to go away. I wish I would dream of you. I just keep dreaming the same unrealistic things, when all I want is to see you.
I overestimated the weather, and had a big jumper on that was uncomfortably warm, the t-shirt under it was sticking to my sides. My armpits were damp, and I was uncomfortable. I began to watch the people around me to steer my mind from the heat.
The street I was on always makes me think of Diagon alley. The buildings shoot up into the sky like jagged, overlapping teeth, sometimes people watch from the windows everyone wriggling like ants on the floor. There’s stalls in the middle that you have to step around, and buskers like guards on the street. I like it so much because it’s always bustling with people. It feels easy to me, to disappear, turn my music up, my mind off. At that moment I wanted to be alone in a busy world, wrapped up by music with a moment of silence to live in my body.
My thoughts began to drift to how you would watch people at airports. You loved airports for that reason. I learnt to love people-watching when I lived in Spain. I couldn’t speak the language, so I would try to work out what people were saying through their faces, their bodies, their hands.
These people were loud, so I turned my music up. I carefully assessed the policeman talking to a stressed market stall owner. I saw girls shouting at each other and falling about in peels of laughter. I saw shifty eyes, masked faces, big, open smiles. Mostly I watched people who walk down the cobbled, crooked street with speed in their heels, and worry on their face.
I’m sure I was one of them.
I don’t remember what was playing, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I just remember seeing you. I stopped walking, and common sense told me not to run over to you. But it was you; through and through.
Your wildflower blue eyes. Your tanned skin. Your sparse, short eyebrows. You fussed with a light pink scarf and adjusted it around your neck.
I hung in a balance of life and death. My world was being tipped, my plans, future and hopes sloshing in a basin in the universe’s lap. The people around me lay forgotten on the floor like discarded toys in comparison to you. My eyes would have followed you anywhere. Nothing else matters to me.
Slowly you started to disappear from me. She was too short. Her nose wasn’t your nose. She wasn’t looking around at everyone as carefully as you do. You never lived through a pandemic. You are dead. She is alive.
I turned my head, and then my body as she walked past me, my mouth hanging on its joint. My heart wanted to follow her like a lost puppy. She hammered against my ribcage, screaming for the person who was lost, to come back to her. Yes, she wasn’t you, but she was the closest I had ever got. She was a reflection in the water, she was a blurry photo. She was a ghost of the real person.
I wondered if maybe you were that short, and maybe I’ve grown. I got stuck on the fact that I might not have ever looked at you from my adult height. I don’t know why it’s those weird technicalities that get to me. Yet I came to, picked myself up and walked on. All I could think was: My Mum didn’t like salmon pink. She would never wear a scarf like that.
You would wear florals, or materials with trees on. Sometimes birds would chase each other around your neck, and sometimes dots decorated you. I don’t know why you would wear such beautiful scarves, when you were the most beautiful person I knew. There was no way for anyone to notice a scarf before your smile, your eyes, or your laugh.
I love you.
Evee x
A Song For You: M83: Midnight City – This city is my church.
My mom was a saver of boxes and baskets and that sort of thing. Later she would fill them up with things. When she passed my sister and I went through many of these “little treasures”. To this day I cannot throw out a box without hearing her voice in my head. “Don’t throw out that box! That’s a good box!” … I say sure Mom but I have plenty of boxes. This one goes in the recycle. (Thanks for reminding me.)
I love this comment. I never expected so many gorgeous comments under this post. Love this, love you, and love the boxes! X
It is interesting and comforting to me that occasionally I can still hear Mom’s voice. Dad’s too for that matter. Dad’s been gone for 14 years now. Mom just five or so. As time goes on I remember less distinctly the health struggles that occurred in the end of their lives and more the fun things and little quirks they both had. Loved your post. It made me thinks about them for a while.
Thank you so much for sharing. One of my favourite moments is when my grief leads me to remember old memories 🤍 grief is a wonderful teacher at times.
yes it can be.
Several months after my husband died, I was grocery shopping. I came around the corner of an aisle and the man who was reaching into and removing the same microwave meal my husband always purchased, looked so much like him from behind. Same height, same weight, same style clothing. It was absolutely surreal. I took it as a gift, that he is watching over me and letting me know he is fine.
💜 We ARE YOUR!!! Mom Evee; carry on Talking With Us, please 🤔 ?
…💛💚💙…
🤍🤍🤍
Hugs Evee ((( ))). So touching to read.
I’m so glad you think so x hugs 🤍
This happened to my youngest son just yesterday while shopping. He saw a man who looked like his dad in every way except the man was heavier. However, it bothered my son so much, he immediately posted to his sister, brother, and me in our family chat.
Dear Evee, my Mother passed away in 1999 at 80 years old (did I tell you?) and I still miss her every day. My sister sent me a video of a woman playing a hymn on piano and we would almost swear it was Mother! I saved it to my computer and every now and then play it again and dream of seeing her someday when I go Home, for that is where she is, in Father’s Heavenly care.
That’s so beautiful x I love that. Hope you play it often x 🤍
Beautiful post that I can relate to very well, recognizing the shape of my mother in someone else for a brief moment. Moms are our first love, they are the first people that we memorize with our hearts. 💖
So true Seoul Sister x
You have captured the moment beautifully. It inspired me to share this:
https://oversoil.wordpress.com/2021/04/29/glimpse/
Beautiful post and tribute to your Mom.
Thank you xx
Beautifully written. Hugs x
Thank you so much 🙏
I so understand this. Really do xxx
I I lost my Mom 47 years ago. I never see her in others, but I do think of her whenever I am baking. It is good to remember those we love. Stay well Allan
I love that you remember her when you’re baking. That’s special x