I was born on an August day. My mother died two days shy of my third month. While I had a loving step-mother that raised me from a child, I still wonder about my mother.
I know she was short. I was told she was about 5 feet tall; tiny was the description of someone that knew her. She was blonde, with blue eyes,and my father adored her. I know that from what I was told by others; my father never talked about her; I think the pain lasted until he passed.
Still, I wonder about her. What was her favorite color? Did she like chocolate cake? Would her smile have healed my broken heart, when life was disappointing? Could I have met her expectations and made her proud?
I wonder most about the end. Melanoma had ravaged; her last days were known to be coming; and the sadness in her heart must have been so deep as to be unbearable.
My father was there until the end. How he survived is beyond me. I don't know if I could have been that strong. Losing the love of your life at such an early age can only be an event that destroys something forever. His perseverance was exceptional and I admire my father more, when I reflect on legacy.
So, I wonder about the person that only brought me to this world; soon to leave for another purpose. The person, and the purpose will never be revealed while I walk the Earth. Time will eventually bring me to the place where I will have the answers. Until then, I can only wait and wonder.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.