I Don’t Know You

I woke up this morning thinking of you and longing to know more about you. I found myself looking through old photos today to remind myself what you looked like and perhaps spark a memory or two. And, in my quest for memories of you I realized I have so few pictures of you. There is the picture of you that Dad had transferred onto a silk screen when he was in Korea. And several photos of you as a child and a much younger woman. I kept searching for more because I had a true desire to see you as the woman I remember from the last few years of your life. A woman that was closer to the age that I am now. However, even though I searched and searched I couldn’t find even one picture of you from those years. And, then I found myself feeling sad and even a tad angry about not only the lack of pictures but also how I often feel sadness at how I lost you at such a young age. You’ve been gone for almost 38 years. Almost two thirds of my life. In a couple of weeks I’ll be 58 years old. Six years older than you when you left us.

The memories I do have of you often seem to come in flashes. Holding my hand as a child. Your smile that always seemed to make me feel better as a little girl. Your deep, throaty laugh that was infectious and invited everyone around to join in. Your quick wit that always seemed to make your eyes sparkle even as it made a ripple of laughter zip through a room. I know that like me, you are a Leo. I know you had two sisters and a brother. I know that your childhood wasn’t the easiest in so many ways. I know you loved your siblings and had a soft spot inside you for your brother that had Downs Syndrome. I know you and Dad loved each other so very much. And, that you loved being a mom and grandmother. Countless nieces and nephews talk of your kindness and love even to this day. And, I also remember that there was a deep sadness in you. A sadness that even as a child I was aware of. I often felt a longing to make you happier. And, with all of the memories I do have of you I also feel like I don’t know you. The real you. The you that you sometimes get to ask about and know deeper as you grow into adulthood and beyond. Today, as I almost frantically looked for memories of you through pictures I felt pain and anger at my inability to sit with you and ask you questions to get the answers that I longed for. And, then as I sat with that sadness and anger I realized part of it came not only from not knowing you but, also that you don’t know me either. I never got to show you the woman I am today. My longing to be able to listen to your stories and share my own with you became a deep ache in my soul for what didn’t happen and would never be. And, then as I sat with my longing I remembered and felt the truth that death doesn’t end a relationship, it only changes it. My relationship with you didn’t end 38 years ago. It changed. My story that you and I can’t share who we are with each was just that. A story. Suddenly, my sadness and anger shifted and I decided to sit under the stars.

As I sat on the front step I pressed play. Joni Mitchell began to sing, “Both Sides Now”, I began to weep and laugh. Spreading my arms wide I silently invited you to see me and asked to see you as well. The song ended and I listened as the sounds of the night filled my senses. I felt my heart opening even wider. Waves of emotion rippled through as I felt you and I sharing our stories without the distraction of words and details.

And, as I walked inside I felt joy as I became aware that you and I I know a little more about each other than we did this morning.

Happy Birthday, Faith. Your body would have been 90 today. However, your Soul and the essence of you is timeless.

Love,

Your daughter – Jennifer

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