I Miss You, Momma

Another year has passed by, and I still miss her as much now – as ever. Her spirit stays close and reminds me that I am not alone, and yet – there are still times when I cry for her. Photographs bring me the happy and the not so happy memories. I re-play the images of the beautiful sounds of her laughter, her tears, her frustrations, and her joys. I gaze into the mirror and see parts of her soul, within. Sometimes, I feel so very far away from her. Everything before and after her death comes in a cloudy haze – I wonder if it is all sincerely happening. I would give anything to hear her voice, to embrace her close to me one last time, lean in, and whisper how much I miss her, and love her.




I finally had the inner strength this past year to open some of the boxes of her belongings. It was a difficult task, but I knew it must be done. On the second anniversary of her death, I lovingly organized all of her artistic canvases – admiring them all. I have never stopped being amazed at the wide-ranging spectrum of talents she possessed. From numerous sketches, portraits, and words – it was truly a beautiful versatile assortment of bold colors and memories from a bygone era. I was much too young when she began then, to have a grand appreciation – but as I studied everything more closely, I realized the stories behind her masterful works deserved its telling. I wanted the world to have a special part the rare beauty momma was so willing to share with others in her living life, the collective spirits so receiving of her creative passions.  

Grappling with the choice to extend a highly personal piece of momma’s heart was not easy for me. I still clung selfishly to every single morsel of her memory I could – not always prepared to give them up – but I wisely realized that this was something she would want. In recent years before her death, she spoke of desiring to leave an artistic legacy. She grew fearful that later generations would not have the enjoyment of seeing these crafty treasures. We were both saddened when she almost lost her last house (momma suffered with her deadly lung cancer by then, and could not afford the payments) – and the safe place to store all of these priceless treasures. And, she did not want the artwork to ever be forgotten. During one of my last visits, she presented me with another of her favorites. I still keep “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted” safely mounted on my wall – as a reminder of her fragile, but enduring strength.

Re-opening one of her portfolios from the 1980’s last year really brought to life some of her remarkable pieces (some of them old and some of them new,) that reminded me why she was so excited about art. And, here am I today – immersed in such diverse, loving community. I smile when I think of DeviantART and the impact it has had during my own artistic journeys. Last summer, I finally decided it was time to share momma’s lifelong creative legacy.






There is not a day that goes by that I am not sincerely thankful for all of the love and support everyone has freely given me, through these most painful years of loss and re-growth. I pray daily that I have done her memory justice. I hope to honor her legacy anew by shedding light on the momma I loved – but also on the gentle hearted person who touched so many other lives with her talents and unflinching generosity. I know that in my heart, momma is my guardian angel now, and that she is with me, always. I feel safe in my knowing it.




<sub>“The voices inside my heart
Never manage to flow across my tongue
I’ll forever be torn at how to start
To explain the way I feel Mum.

I’ll cry to you, Mother
When the world stands still
On the days you slipped to another
Dimension of a place I can only feel.

I’ll cry to you, Mother
When I need a hug and you’re not here
But be reassured that you’re standing
Whispering silent condolences into my ear.

I’ll take a picnic out to the backyard
Mother, I wish you could see the view
Poignant flocks of lavender
The fresh scent reminds me of you.

And I’ll cry to you, Mother
Wishing you’d lace your scents across my face
And make your fresh, home-made lemonade
As I think, I can feel it and I can taste…

Your zest for life are in the bitter-sweet memories
I’ll cry for you, Mother
My best friend, my guidance and my heart
Even though you’ve slipped to another
State of paradise I’ve yet to see
You’re here in the lavender fields
And though I can’t hug you
You’re love is all I can feel.

I’ll cry for you mother
Because I love you so
When I cry for you, Mother
It’s just to remind you, let you know –

That I’ll never forget.”

the-photographicpoet, 2010</sub>