I had been sure that, like her, I’d be gone by 58. The destination is certain the journey is not.įor much of my life I assumed I would die young. I think it’s common for those who live longer than a parent to look at aging as a long, dark tunnel. I’ve always been of the mind that what you see is what you get, and in the case of years, we don’t always get as many as we want. She says we’re all capable of communicating if we learn to listen her antenna is just higher.

She says all humans are connected through energy, and when we feel the presence of someone who’s passed, it’s likely them stopping in to visit. Is it possible that as I’m thinking of her, she’s thinking of me? Medium Laura Renee, who happens to be my cousin, says spirits are all around us. Sometimes she feels as present to me as if she were sitting in the same room. The most important lesson I learned from my mother is nothing worthwhile comes without struggle. Would my mother have cataracts like I do? Would her knees creak as mine do? I can’t answer these questions but I do know my mother wouldn’t let inevitable aches and pains stop her from doing the hard work of living. When I lost her, I also lost my roadmap to getting old. But I don’t know how she would look at 70. We both have grey hair, are thicker in the middle than we’d like and are chatty with strangers. Growing up, people said, “You look just like your mother.” I compare my face now, at 58, to her face then and we could be sisters.

The author, as a toddler, and her mother at the beach in 1965. I saw her doppelgänger in the faces of 80-year-old women. I sobbed my way up and down grocery store aisles. Nearly 30 years later, in the months leading up to when I officially outlived her, my grief, which had softened over time, became sharp again. For the next 27 years I had babies, started businesses, made and lost friends, and I did it all without my mother. She’s leaving knowing you’re okay.” I had a partner, a good job, and a new house.

Her departure - just 3 months from cancer diagnosis to death - was quick, like a hard slap to the face that you don’t feel until after the welts rise.īefore she died, a nurse said, “Your mother got to see you grow up and get married. The author and her mother, Lita Norkin, at the age of 56, on the author’s wedding day in 1994.

Let Me Love You by Alexandria House