Letters to Nora - March 12th, 2013

March 12th, 2013

Dear Sweet Nora,

I have found writing again.  The space that has been left empty in my heart by your absence has been driving me to fill it.  I am moved to create, to form, to produce, to give birth.  I guess I do this because that is what my life was the last nine months with you.  You were my novel, my poem, my sonnet.  You were the love in my words made into life.  But now, words are all I have of you.  Not even many memories to call our own.  

But, Nora, how you have opened my world even in your absence. I was expecting to grow and change when you were born into this world, as all parents will.  I wanted to blossom, to transform, to become.  I wanted to find a new role; a new meaning in life.  I was so nervous for this, so fearful, so scared, but so eager to take on this challenge of change.  However, this transformation did not come in its expected form, as most profound changes often do.

Your death resulted in my rebirth of sorts.  In order to fill the void inside of me, I have revived parts of me that have lain dormant for days, weeks, years.  Parts of me I have not seen since my days as a child.  Your death brought me closer to my inner voice, my inner truth.  I draw on this well within me, this well of love and peace, where I believe you reside.  I feel once again connected to all parts of me.  It’s as if my body and soul are meeting again, in an effort to find you, to feel you there. 

Nora, no matter how much pain this union of fruitless searching brings, I cherish it.  I cherish it because it brings me comfort.  It is as if the writing, the creativity, the voice within, is a surgeon slowly suturing the wound on my heart by pulling the thread and needle through each inch of the torn apart vessel, doing his best to save the heart, to save me from joining you in that dark abyss.  Little does this doctor know that even if he were to give me a transplant, he would not be able to heal my grief.  There will always be a scar from where the new one is attached to my body.   There will always be a little reminder of the broken heart that was once there.  

But, writing, the creativity, the voice within me, is slowly touching the pain, washing it away in spurts, like a rain shower in the sun that blurs the side walk chalk left by the children.  The pain will always be, in some form or another, but maybe the pain, like my writing, can create, form, produce, and give birth to a new piece of art, like the rain changes a chalk ‘life-like’ portrait into a Picasso.

So I guess what I am saying, Nora, is your essence, your being, has moved me, changed me, brought me back to a child’s wonder while at the same time it has aged my soul.  I wish this could have happened with you in my arms instead of in my mind.  I really do wish all of that. I really do.

Love Always & Forever, 

Mom