Anniversaries of the heart are days that are forever marked in our memories and heart, and many times experienced silently. Often these anniversaries are connected to loved ones that have passed away. This is one of those days for me — I lost my mother three years ago today.
I still miss her so much and think about her every day. I sometimes see things that remind me of her or recall a memory with her and feel a wave of emotion. There are even days that I pick up the phone to call her, only to remember that she won’t be on the other end of the line.
Time does help heal, but there are days that it hits me more than others. Her birthday, holidays, and the anniversary of her death are all times that strike more of an emotional chord. I have lost a lot of people in my life, but I think there is something different about losing your mom. In fact, over the last few days I have had several conversations with women who have lost their mothers, and they both echoed the sentiment that although it is really hard when anyone you know and love dies, there really is something different about losing your mom.
I am grateful for the time I had with my mom, but as most people would probably say, I wish I had had more time. When her health first started declining, I made it a point to learn as much as I could about her, and leave nothing unsaid. I asked her questions about her life growing up, about my childhood and other things I just wanted to know about her. I told her things that I loved and appreciated about her, and memories of special times in my life. I cherish all of the conversations I had with my mom, and the richer relationship we had in the end as a result.
As the day marking this anniversary of my heart comes to a close, I thought Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem was especially poignant and meaningful.
The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;–
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;–a fairy tale
Of some enchanted land we know not where,
But lovely as a landscape in a dream.
–HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW