(This was originally published in July 2006 on MySpace.)
The river is muddy. The waters are deep, frothy, noisy. Churning, constantly sweeping things away, never stopping, never caring, rolling on and on.
Both of my mothers are buried in the same cemetery. It’s an old cemetery; established in 1873. It has a lovely, peaceful name – Mount Moriah Cemetery. It’s on a quiet road, in a sparsely populated area (for now). The river, at the bottom of the mountain, rolls on by, the sound of the rushing water silencing everything else.
I don’t go down there very often. I suppose some would see that as disrespectful of my parents’ memory; they would say that I don’t care or have no feelings for them, or that I’ve forgotten. That would be wrong.
Yesterday, June 30, marked the sixth anniversary of my adopted mother’s death. Not a day goes by that I don’t recall something about her; something ridiculous, something painful, something funny, something nostalgic. Many nights, my dreams are of my mother; disjointed, broken images, misty and difficult to recall upon waking.
I went down there today, with some flowers for both of my mothers.
As I stood there by my adopted mother’s grave, looking at the flowers I put there next to some already there, I was thinking “She would hate those artificial flowers someone put there…” when I noticed that just to the side of her grave was a small patch of tiger lilies in full bloom. Mom loved tiger lilies. Now she has them there, all the time.
As the river rolls on.
I miss what we could have had.
More of my Puzzle Pieces Journey here.