It’s Mother’s Day…….my children came over to share the day with me. Now, in the quiet after they’ve left, wistful thoughts cloud my mind like the rainy clouds above. Thoughts of my own mother. When I was young, I visited her grave site very often. Now, not so much. I have come to realize she isn’t there. Yes, her resting place is to be respected, but she is not there.
I don’t go there to find her anymore. Once, I did. She is anywhere and everywhere and no where on this earth. I walked back from my window and sat down and picked up my knitting. The sound of the needles……….the sound my mother’s hands made each night as she watched television. She made baby sweaters and hats and blankets for each family member expecting……In a large Italian family, this was an arduous endeavor. When I was young, I knit small projects….now I realize the time and work involved in each of those tiny stitches as I attempt to make my own endeavors. I wonder if all my aunts and cousins appreciated her gifts………….I wonder where all those beautiful sweaters are today. Families grow apart, those Aunts have all crossed and I don’t see those cousins anymore……except for funerals.
As I sit on the sofa, I realize laying a flower on a grave in a quiet cemetery won’t bring me nearly as close to her as the sound of those metal knitting needles clanging against each other……. She left me, but never left my side. She is right here on the sofa as I knit and purl across each row.
Mother’s Day Blessings……….