A Gift of Love

on the 25th anniversary of my mom's passing

You were twenty-five 
when I was born.
You were fifty-eight
when you passed away.
Exactly twenty-five
years ago today...
when I am fifty-eight. 

It seems too precise
for mere coincidence. 
At least to my relentless
meaning-making mind, 
which finds it extraordinary. 

To have been born
when you were just
twenty-five
Earthly years alive.
And now to feel reborn
from Ashkenazi ashes,
with you twenty-five
Otherworldly years beyond. 
My having survived cancer
at the same age that you died. 

A Wisdom Keeper once told me
that we are continuations of our ancestors.
I was less than enthused, 
given our tumultuous relationship
and my complicated grief. 
But it is a relief to know
that although I can still feel you,
you do not need me to heal you
or fix anything belonging to the past. 

Long since healed 
in the Embrace of 
Infinite Unfailing Love,
your only desire is that I
decisively, diligently forge
a healthier, happier path forward.
Healing and growing;
seeking and sowing
greater grace and gumption
along the winding way.
Planting beautiful, hardy flowers
of fortitude and courage for the future. 
Steadfast trees of unapologetic joy
and laughter to echo through generations. 

A Gift of Love to All Who came before.
A Gift of Love to All Who come after. 

Soapstone box that I gifted to my mom once upon a time. She kept it on her coffee table. For the last 25 years it has held the rosary she was holding when she passed. Cynthia Lynne Anne Elizabeth Bratman March 4, 1941-January 18, 2000