More Than A Thousand

Today as I was reading a book to my daughter, I felt myself start to tear up.    Sometimes I can go for a long time without being sad about my Mom not being here.   It's been almost 9 years since she passed away, and most days I go through the day without shedding a tear at all about it.   But then there are other days, where the most random thing will make me have that scratchy place in my throat, then the misty eyes, and then, the totally choked up feeling where I know if I continue talking, I'm gonna cry.   Sometimes I continue; sometimes I don't.   This time, even though I was reading to River, I decided it was worth it to keep going, even if the tears came.

The book was about a girl who believed she was a ballerina.    She envisioned herself dancing up on stage, as a prima ballerina, even though she had never really taken lessons.    Her parents knew that she loved it, and so eventually they agreed to send her to lessons - and, no, this is not Angelina Ballerina.    It'd be pretty bad if some little mice made me cry.    The story goes on, and the little girl was going to be in a recital.   She wore her pretty costume, and had her fun make up on, and did great up on stage.   Of course, the story sounded familiar to one of my own, but that wasn't the part that made me sad.    The part that got me was this quote:

"After we were finished, Mom clapped and laughed and smiled her proud-of-you smile."

I think that's one of the things that I miss the most from my sweet Mama.   If I had to describe how she looked at me more times than not, it would be that look.   Where she clapped and laughed and smiled so proudly at me.   From the smallest of deeds to the greatest of accomplishments, she believed in me, and encouraged me in who I was completely.    From the time that I was little, and would mess up on a drawing, to when I was older and had real issues, I would go to her with my problem, and she would say to me, "You'll figure it out.   You'll find a way to make it work out."   She didn't tell me just what to do to smooth things over.  She didn't make me do the formulated "right" response.   She didn't do it for me.   She believed that I knew what to do, and allowed me to find out how to make it happen.   

There's a picture that one of my friends captured at my high school graduation of my mom looking at me with that expression.   I can't tell you how true it is, that a picture is worth much more than a thousand words.

As I continued after that statement in the book, even though I knew the tears were coming,  River looked up at me and said, "Are you crying?"

And I said, "Yeah.  I am."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because it makes me miss my Mama.   And how proud of me she always was.   With dancing, with everything.   But it's okay to be sad about it.   Sometimes it's good to be sad." I reassured.

"Let's not think about it anymore.   Let's read this book."  and she moved to the next book in the stack.

I laughed and said okay.   But someday, I'll have to teach her, that we can't always do that.   Believe me, I know.   That's what I've done my whole life.    But, not today.   And even though it only lasted about a minute, it was good to grieve for that minute.