Today is the twelfth anniversary of my mother’s passing. I would have thought back before all this that I would be able to put it behind me, but I think I was kidding myself. Everyone grieves differently and at different stages and levels over time. For me, Mama’s absence is still a hole that aches in a mostly dull, but sometimes razor sharp way. I don’t devolve into uncontrollable sobs like I once did. Tears still come, but they are the kind that slide down my cheek. Sometimes, the sobs are there, but they are not as prevalent as they used to be.

Growing up with Mama, we were extremely loving towards one another. We rarely had any cross words with each other. We always told each other we loved one another anytime one of us was going to leave, “Just in case.” That remains a source of happy memories for me. Now though, I dream about Mama. I’m sure most would think that was wonderful, and so would I except for one problem: Mama is always angry with me or scared of me in my dreams.

Without fail, she is either disappointed at something I’ve done, or sometimes, she is just downright angry at me for something. Unfortunately, as is the case sometimes with dreams, I don’t know what I’ve done to upset her so. Other times, she cowers from my presence as if I were going to hurt her. I never once in the years we were together, ever raised a hand or even my voice at my mother. Sure, we had spats, especially when I was a teenager and right after college, but I always definitely knew what the source was. In my dreams, I never do. It’s something that haunts me when I wake from one of those dreams. Most of the time, I can’t remember the dream, but I just remember Mama being mad at me.

I do have some dreams about Mama when she isn’t angry with me or something else, but those are very few and far between. The factor that binds all those dreams is that, for a moment, I forget Mama has died. I’ll go through the dream and suddenly, I’ll realize Mama isn’t going to be there when I wake up. That knowledge usually causes me to wake up. I’m always sad then.

I know I write a lot about Mama and I would imagine sometimes the people who read my blog are tired of the constant talk, but I miss her terribly. For the first twenty-five years of my life, she was the most important person in it, then Budge came along, and they became like the Trinity at the top of my life, two people sharing the same space. When I lost my job as a librarian, it wasn’t quite so bad because I had Mama to look after. I went down to her house several times a week. We went to Chick-Fil-A on Fridays for chicken minis before I took her to the grocery store. She loved the grocery store, any store really, and it was a sad day when she couldn’t go anymore.

With Mama gone and Ima gone as well, it feels like my purpose is gone. My job wasn’t gone, it had just morphed into taking care of Mama. When she died, a lot of my purpose for being died with her. I’ve had a devil of a time trying to find one since then. I did have a renewed sense of purpose for the time Dad was in the veteran’s home with dementia. Going to see him twice a week gave me something important to do and someone to take care of. Sadly, Dad is gone now, too.

I keep on going though. It’s honestly not as hard as it was like ten years ago because it’s not as raw and stomach churning. I reached the stage of acceptance in my grief cycle, but it doesn’t mean I miss her any less, nor does it mean the ache goes away.

Think about me today if you have the time and remember, I love y’all, and keep your feet clean.