Perfume & Pearls

Today I wore her perfume and pearls. Her perfume reminds me of her special nights out with Dad. I would watch her apply her makeup and get excited to wear it myself someday, to be like her.

She was beautiful. I remember thinking that as a little girl as she would get all dolled up. She would end the beauty regimen with a spritz of perfume. I would smell the scent as I rested my head on her shoulder as she would hold me in her arms, as a baby, a child, as a young woman. I loved her perfume mostly because it reminded me of her.

When she was out on a date with Dad, and I missed her I would go and smell her perfumes and play with her jewelry.

Today I was not playing, I am a woman myself now with my own makeup, perfume and pearls. But today I wore hers and it made me miss her even more. Happy Mother's Day Mom, I love you.

It's time

Today was a hard day. Mother's day often is, or at least has been for the last three years. My subconscious dreads it, and I don't realize it until usually Saturday night when I snap at my sweet husband over some miniscule thing. He then usually asks, "What is wrong Honey?" Over the years the reply has gradually changed from "Nothing," to a sincere "I don't know," to "Tomorrow is Mother's Day."

My mother Karen died over three years ago from brain cancer and I am still reeling in that loss. To be honest I don't think that I have dealt with it. I have been busy being a young mother myself to two small children and have pushed my grief down. I haven't done anyone any favors by doing this, especially myself.

So here I am on Mother's Day giving myself the gift of grief. The permission to mourn. The ability to talk or write about it and not worry who is listening or who cares. I care that my feelings are expressed, and hopefully on my journey of expression I will be giving myself the gift of healing.