You Never Get Over Losing Your Mother
Coronavirus just got personal for me
I was 41 when my mother died. Suddenly I felt like an orphan. Nearly 25 years later I still miss being able to pick up the phone and talk to her, ask her advice, know she will care and always, always, be on my side.
Today, and every day, nearly 25 years later, I still miss her.
Yesterday I learned my cousin Miriam died. I learned about in on FaceBook.
Miriam married into my family, married one of the few boys we’ve had on that side of the family in the last 100 years. My mother loved her, as we all did. I’m sure they are chatting with each other, surrounded by “them.” “Them” was how my mom and my cousin Pat used to refer to those members of our family who had passed on, and who they believed were watching from heaven, having beer or wine or whatever they fancied.
They have become a larger crowd since the days when my mother and my cousin Pat would raise a glass and toast to “them.” Now Pat and my mom are part of “them.”
And now, because, of the Coronavirus, Miriam is part of “them” as well. Miriam’s sons and her husband, my cousin John, are now part of those of us who remain behind and cry, those of us who will never really get over losing those we love so dearly.