I watched my mother die. I was 19 and the process was slow. She held on to life so dearly. She wanted to see the grandson she had been waiting to meet (he was born 14 days later). She wanted to be sure that it was OK to let go, to be sure that her husband and her three children would be OK. Eventually, either she grew tired of holding on or she knew that we would be OK. She died late at night and it was pouring rain.
Do you know what that did to me? It changed me. Forever. For the first few years it just made me sad and mad. I couldn’t (and still don’t) understand why it happened to her. To us. She was a good woman and the best mother. I was always able to deal with my sadness, anger and confusion through words, spoken and written. I always kept a journal. I would visit her grave on April 10th and on Mother’s Day with the journal and write until my hands cramped. I have always talked openly about her death. Now, a decade later, her death has left me with a raw and honest passion. I want to educate people. I want to make a difference.
I've lost some of that passion since I've become a mother. I feel like it is still in me but I don't have the time or focus to dedicate to it. My focus is almost 100% on Abe and being his mother, which stems from my mother. Every day I do something that reminds me of my mother. I act like her, I cook and bake like her, and I mother like her. It's is a good thing.
I talk with Abe about his grandmother often. She would just be so in love with him. Abe will do something and Seth and I will say, what would Bonnie think of this or that? Wouldn't she have fun with him?!
I want Abe to grow up knowing about her, knowing her story, knowing how great of a mother she was to all three of us kids, and knowing how strong she was. She is the strongest woman I know.
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