I’m sorry, whatevergirl; I can’t imagine what it would have been like to grow up without my mother. Your story just made me call her though!
I always thought this was a beautiful poem, and hopefully you will like it too:
"Over this your white grave
the flowers of life in white–
so many years without you–
how many have passed out of sight?
Over this your white grave
covered for years, there is a stir
in the air, something uplifting
and, like death, beyond comprehension.
Over this your white grave
oh, mother, can such loving cease?
for all his filial adoration
a prayer:
Give her eternal peace–"
It was written by a then 19-year-old… his name? Karol Wojtyla. I don’t know if you have ever read much about John Paul II’s life, but he lost his mother at the age of 8, and before he was an adult, his elder brother and his father. The loss of his family profoundly influenced his awareness of a vocation, because he began to wonder why he was left alive. Anyway, I was trying to offer you some comfort in that a very great man also suffered a similar loss, and was shaped profoundly by it. Happy Mother’s Day, whatevergirl!