mothers and daughters « Mamalita – an adoption blog by Jessica O'Dwyer on Guatemalan adoption

Posts Tagged ‘mothers and daughters’

A note from my mom

Tuesday, April 9th, 2019

One of the benefits of a torn calf muscle is being forced to sit down. For the past few days, I’ve parked myself downstairs on a small stool and sorted through boxes. This is part of my ultimate plan to carve out a permanent space for a writing desk for me. Currently, I write on a collapsible Costco table that stays in our guest room until guests arrive, which is often, and I’m compelled to take the table down. (Not that our guests would complain! Just that my papers and books overwhelm the space. Bottom line: I need a surface that is permanent.)

Today, I found this note from my mother, one of hundreds I’ve saved. She was a faithful correspondent, always clipping and sending me articles: about adoption, Guatemala, child-rearing, museums, the dance world. Her handwriting is so distinctive and energized, like my mother herself. Even her choice of stationery is revelatory.

I miss her every day.

ShareThis

Tags: #amwriting, letters from home, mothers and daughters
Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

My mother laughing

Thursday, March 2nd, 2017

My mother loved to laugh and was the best audience when hearing a joke.

For years, I called her a few times a week with the goal to say something funny enough to provoke a chuckle. As I began to spin my tale, I’d sense her anticipation. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Then what?” she’d say, coaxing me on. She was easy! She laughed at everything. I imagined her eyes brightening as she waited for the punchline.

Laughing was my mother’s default. She’d rather do that than anything else. To my mother, the world, with its flawed and imperfect people, was always good. She looked for the good, the positive, the funny. And she found it.

I read somewhere that it takes six months after someone dies to realize what you miss about them.

My mother’s sense of humor, her love of a joke, her delight at slapstick, a pun, or a pratfall. That’s what I miss.

I laugh less with my mother gone. I miss laughing with my mother. ~