My brother sent me an email this morning. He had written today's date and remembered that our parents were married on this day sixty-one years ago. He said moments like this always left him feeling a bit sad. Just prior to getting his email, I had remarked to my co-worker that today was my parents' anniversary. My brother and I had the same thought at practically the same time.
A shared thought is not so unusual for us. It's happened before. Mom's name was Rose--short for Rosella. Often, for her birthday or Mother's Day, I would choose a card with roses on it. My brother would do the same. On several occasions, she received the exact same card from us even though we purchased them separately. After she passed away, we even found that our dreams about her were very similar.
Over the years there have been isolated moments when I've really felt her presence. I've built a tradition of making a wreath of roses and ribbon to take to the cemetery every Christmas since she passed away. Usually, my children, Henry or my father would go with me, but one year I went by myself, which was very unusual. Cedar Hill Cemetery is old, with narrow winding lanes and huge trees and large granite stones. As I turned a corner and went up the hill to the family plot, I was met both visually and aurally by the largest flock of crows I have ever seen. As I drove past, they slowly lifted from the ground into the air and just as slowly settled back down to the earth like a rolling wave. I really felt my mother's spirit in their greeting. I knew she was there.
For most events and experiences that I think Mom would have loved to have been a part of, my way of including her memory is to wear a necklace that my Dad gave to me the day she died. It's a simple gold chain with a miniature replica of a gold dollar coin. He said it was the last piece of jewelry that she wore.
Memories are the only thing that we can both hold close and share at the same time. But nothing changes the fact that we will always miss her.
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