My Mother’s Eyes

My mother passed away this weekend. While I find it hard to believe and am saddened by the loss, I do feel a sense of peace in knowing she’s at rest. She had been ill for quite sometime, more so than she had led us to believe. She was a stubborn English women, who would continually tell the doctor she was feeling well, despite all her aches.

She passed with her children, my brother-in-law, my brother’s partner, Bandit and her dog, Millie, by her side. Watching (helping) someone crossover to the afterlife isn’t as morbid and scary as I had imagined it. In a way, it was almost beautiful. I hope that doesn’t sound too insensitive, but when someone is in so much pain, letting them go to—what I know is—a better place is comforting. Someone once said to me that with death, spirit is unlocked and is with you forever. My sister, brother and I held her, whispered into her ears to go see our dad, encouraged her to let go and go to heaven.

My mother taught me about right and wrong, but, more importantly, she taught me about spirit, about life, about spunk and excitement. She taught me to take time to have fun and, as Maya Angelou says, “To be the rainbow in someone else’s cloud.” Life isn’t about you. It’s about others. My mother was selfless in love and in life. She showed me, up until her dying breath, that family, friends and loved ones are most important.

Our earthbound life is an illusion. We’re really a spirit having a human experience, not the other way around.

And my mother’s eyes are with me
in the chilly winds of autumn.
If I ain’t here by winter, she’ll know why.

I’ve seen all that I dare.
I’ve seen more than my share.
Forgive me if I stare with my mother’s eyes.