Meditations on Mom

"She’s not gone. She’s just no longer required to knock."

Some presences live without permission. They do not need doors or bodies to return. She arrives in the light, in your calm, in your voice when you’re not thinking.

"Grief is how we stay in conversation."

It’s not a wall. It’s a window. Sometimes it fogs. Sometimes it flings wide. But it always faces the place where love still speaks.

"She left things you haven’t found yet."

A sentence you’ll repeat without knowing why. A kindness you didn’t know was hers. A strength you only notice when the world turns heavy.

"Time doesn’t heal. It teaches."

You don’t forget. You form new rituals. You learn to hold what can’t be held. And in doing so, you grow into someone she would still recognize.

"You are the living proof of her care."

Every boundary, every bravery, every forgiveness — some part of her lives there. You are not a tribute. You are the continuation.

"The chair isn’t empty. It’s sacred."

You don’t need to fill the space. Just notice it. Let it be what it is — a place where memory rests without needing to explain itself.

"Her absence created new presence."

There’s a stillness now that wasn’t there before. And in that stillness, you listen differently. You carry differently. You love more deeply.

"Love doesn’t end. It echoes."

You hear it when you’re quiet. You see it in your own eyes. You feel it in the way you hold others — gentler, because she held you first.

"You inherited more than traits. You inherited rhythm."

The way you begin, the way you forgive, the way you pause — she shaped more than your features. She shaped your cadence.

"You are now the storyteller."

She handed you the invisible thread. Not to bind — but to continue weaving. The story of her, through the story of you.

"You can cry without breaking."

That’s what she taught you. That’s what she modeled. A strength that weeps and still rises. A love that lets go and still holds on.

"She was your beginning. You are her becoming."

The seed remembers the tree. And when you grow, she grows again — not backward, not gone, but through you, forward.

Gsry D.

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