And as usual, I get a bit sad.
I’ve been a mother for 24 years now [Jeez where did all those years go?] so I’ve been the one being celebrated and that’s good. It helps me stay focused on the good things of life.
May 1983 was the last chance I had to celebrate with my mother. I still remember the flowers and the cake.
Does my sister remember, I wonder? She was so little.
We never talk about our mother. Nobody in my family does. If someone mentions her by mistake, everybody tenses up and go quiet until someone else changes the subject.
Last time I was in Colombia, I met with my aunt (my mother’s only sister. And half sister at that) and one of her old high school friends. We were reminiscing, having a good time and then he asked about my mother. Very casual, something like “and how’s your mother doing?”. My aunt and I looked at each other in horror. Does he not know? was the silent question in our eyes. After a rather uncomfortable silence, I finally murmured: well, she…. she… um… she died a long time ago. He had the good sense of not asking any more questions.
Why is it so difficult to say “she was murdered” out loud? I don’t know. But after 29 years I still can’t.
And after 29 years, I’m still angry that my mother was taken away from me. I can’t help it.
I can rationalize all I want [and I do]. I can focus on what I have instead on dwelling on what I don’t have. I enjoy my children. I enjoy my family and friends. I enjoy life.
But I still get angry and sad on days like this.
Cause I miss my mother very much.
Happy Mother’s Day mother, wherever you are.