Remembering Mom

When this day rolls around every year, depending on where I'm at in my life, I have a different reaction.  I always think about my mom and continually miss her.  Even after all this time, some days are difficult (read: day before my wedding, when I had a little "I-want-my-mother" breakdown).  Other days, I feel like she's with me still.  Like when I think I've ruined something or messed up in some way, I hear her voice in my head.  When I was 8 or 9 we went to the store and somehow I spilled liquid laundry detergent all over myself and the floor.  It was a BIG mess and I felt terrible because I thought I had ruined my private school jumper and my mom's shopping trip.  She looked at me with my head down and tears in my eyes, smiled and said, "Its ok, Lesley.  Little girls can be washed".

Last night, I ran across the letter below and it gave me loads of comfort heading into this day.  I have always believed I would see my mom again. Until then, I like the thought she will be there waiting for me on the other side.

A letter written by Benjamin Franklin to his niece on the death of his brother February 23, 1756:

"I condole with you. We have lost a most dear and valuable relation. But it is the will of God and nature that these mortal bodies be laid aside when the soul is to enter into real life. This is rather an embryo state, a preparation for living. A man is not completely born until he is dead. Why then should we grieve that a new child is born among the immortals, a new member added to their happy society?

We are Spirits. That bodies should be lent us, while they can afford us pleasure, assist us in acquiring knowledge, or in doing good to our fellow creatures, is a kind and benevolent act of God. When they become unfit for these purposes, and afford us pain instead of pleasure, instead of aid become an encumbrance, and answer none of the intentions for which they were given, it is equally kind and benevolent that a way is provided by which we may rid of them. Death is that way.

We ourselves, in some cases, prudently choose a partial death. A mangled painful limb which cannot be restored, we willingly cut off. He who plucks out a tooth parts with it freely, since the pain goes with it; and he who quits the whole body, parts at once with all pains and possibilities of pain and diseases which it was liable to, or capable of making him suffer.

Our friend and we are invited abroad on a party of pleasure which is to last forever. His chair was ready first, and he is gone before us. We could not all conveniently start together; and why should you and I be grieved at this, since we are soon to follow, and know where to find him?"

Mom and I before one of my dance recitals - circa 1987