The most beautiful gift a mother could leave

My mother was a writer. I don’t think she ever had anything published, but it was an interest that she dreamed of “getting to, one day…”

After her passing last year, I was fortunate enough to find a few of these precious writings. Loose papers torn from notebooks found in her bedside table… Folders of documents on her laptop of writing ideas…

And then I found one titled, “My Daughter.”

My heart stopped.

It was just a couple of short paragraphs, but it’s amazing how a small collection of words could have such great meaning to me, especially during my time of grief.

“People often say my daughter looks like me, and I take that as a compliment.”

Oh, my heart…

My mom’s writing continued to describe how she would watch me playing as a young girl…

“… her voice has the power to make me chuckle or catch my breath at the wonder that this sweet, smart little girl is really mine.”

Truly the most beautiful gift she could have left to me.

At a time when I would have given anything for one more word from her lips, one more touch from her hand, one more smile directed towards me… I received a wonderful confirmation of her love for me from beyond the grave.

The passing of a dream

I’m so grateful to have found a few of her writing ideas, but at the same time I feel grieved that she had passed away without fulfilling this dream of hers to write. My mother’s free time was spent loving on her kids and grandkids instead of working towards her passion. Without a doubt, given a chance to do it again, I don’t think she would do anything differently.

However, I don’t want my passion for writing to be lost in the busy-ness of life. I don’t want to sacrifice time with my family, but I do want to write. I don’t want to wait until I “get around to it” and this blog is helping me to hone my creative writing.

My mother passed down to me her love of words. Growing up, she often played word games with me, teaching me valuable skills in language and comprehension. Her favourite game was Scrabble. She was very good, but once in awhile I’d give her a run for her money. Come to think of it, maybe she was just letting me win every so often so that I’d continue to play with her…

Regardless, I enjoy putting my thoughts into words. I dream of writing children’s books one day. Perhaps an autobiography. Maybe even a few parenting manuals. Writing helps me to process life’s tragedy’s and to remember the day-to-day victories.

One thing I definitely want to do is write for my kids.

Writing beautiful memories

I want to write down our memories of my littles growing up. The way Declan makes me laugh with his crazy antics or how he makes me melt when he says, “I love you mommy.” The way Adaya giggles when I tickle her or how her infectious smile lights up a room.

I want to write of our trips to the beach, the made up bedtime stories, and the imaginary castles we build out of blankets and chairs.

I want to write about how proud I am of both of them, my heart bursting with joy as they conquer new milestones and face new experiences.

Written words will last longer than my breath; I pray that my kids will know my love for them long after I am gone.

Thank you, Mom, for expressing your thoughts towards me on paper, that I might find them one day and hold on to them through my grief. As memories begin to fade, I have enduring evidence of your love for me.

And now, watching my own little girl brings me such delight. I, too, catch my breath at the wonder of my precious baby girl.

I feel closer to my mom, and I can relate to her words, because people often say my daughter looks like me…

And I take that as a compliment.