Mother, I miss you

“Mom, I love you and I hope that you’re well…” he said as he began to choke up and to cry. He held his hands to his face to conceal his greif. His mother would not answer. He sat in a chair on a freshly mowed lawn bent over letting the tears stream down his face. His mother was in the wind and represented in the marble headstone of the grave before him. “Mom, I miss you.”

He had come to visit the only physical representation of his beloved mother on this particular Mother’s Day. While he is nameless to me he was there and I saw him there in that cemetery crying like a lost child.

And I knew that all men share a common bond, that despite the world we all have a mother to whom we pay homage and respect, and to whom we owe all our love.

The man in the cemetery obviously had either a relation of great love or eternal regret with his mother. I could only imagine his greif, but what I do imagine is unbearable to ponder for unlike this man I do not know life without my mother. I only know that my mother loves me greatly and I’d do anything for her.

A long time ago my grandmother said that when she finally left this life, she would visit us on the wind in the cemetery when we came to visit her. I don’t know what the Gods allow to those who’ve gone on but you remember things like that.

Seasons since and after that dreadful day of her passing I found myself alone there, at her resting place indulging in the wonderful therapy of speaking to my dead. And as surely as I stood there, a strong wind came from the south. I remembered those words and immediately I struggled with the tears and reminiscent greif. My grandmother had somehow made good on her promise.

There is no lonely road and nothing more stirring than knowing that even amongst the dead we are visited by our love ones and our ancients.