“Deep depression when my Mama passed…”

I apologise for the sad post so shortly after going live, but honestly speaking, Mother’s Day, the teddies, flowers and chocolates and not being with my Mom on that day is all I can think about lately.

The Kanye West lyric… I understand the feeling well. That’s why I’m in the Western Cape. Call it hiding, pressing the reset button or connecting with oneself again, either way, we all have different coping mechanisms. However, no matter how well I cope and I continue with my own life, it still feels like I’ll never completely recover. A mother’s love cannot be expressed and to fully comprehend it in it’s leaps and bounds, it means that an individual steps into the shoes of parenthood as well (there are some great fathers out there too, mine included, so as much as I’m talking about the loss of my Mom, I don’t want you to feel that I am excluding great men).

Life without my Mother in a few simple examples of my everyday life and chores:
It’s like being in a place where missing their physical presence leaves you off balance.
Looking at the shower sliding door after using Mr Muscle, still seeing the grime streaks and not knowing the old wives tales.
It’s coming home from dinner or a club and your place is empty, just a meowing cat but no one waiting up to ask you what you did, rolling your eyes and thinking ‘I ate and I danced.’
It’s trying to figure out who to call first when your heart is broken, or you didn’t get the job you wanted.
Being without my Mother is leaving the flat without any words of encouragement and arriving safely at the destination without an incoming call to check if I’m still in one piece, a call at lunch time and a ‘hey Ma, what would you like for supper?’ quick chat.
It’s having to search back in the memories for advice for each important incident that you face after their passing and wondering if those words are applicable at this very moment.

Nearly 2 years and there isn’t a single week that passes that I don’t think about my Mother. Some days are awful. Most days bearable. On Christmas, birthdays and last year’s Mother’s Day my mantra was ‘I choose to celebrate her life.’ One’s natural response would be ‘well keep doing that’ and my answer is that I am, but I also need to be honest with myself. Walking around all tough and with my white, straight teeth which I paid for beaming at others doesn’t help. The key thing is truth of my feelings and the voids from which they’ve been sourced, and in that for me, comes a form of honour because I know why it hurts. It’s not only that she’s gone but I can now pin point exactly why I hurt on most days.

I honour my Mother in how she loved and cared for me, her daily prayers covering my life, her friendship and appreciation, honesty in correction and in praise, and the seed of excellence which she planted in my life. Even though I struggle to get up by the sound of the alarm, because my whole life before the 11th of September 2011 my parents always woke me up each morning, I see more of her in the woman that I am becoming, my thoughts and in how I articulate myself. My celebration of my Mother comes in forms of responsibility, of remembering and carrying through the messages of love, faith and generosity (her traits that have been noted and praised, but also lessons in my journey), and being strong and independent, yet humble.

I would like to end today’s post with this:
How do or should we celebrate our parents, grandparents or guardians?
Yes diplomas or degrees, financial success and finding companionship is good and something to be proud of, but what lessons do you think they would love to see as a continued legacy in our families?

This here, is life on Benita’s Laine

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