My daughter Masana left me this note in my purse. I found it while rummaging around for loose change.
When I read it, I paused for a moment and let go the errands that needed to be done, the places that I had to get to. In the middle of a suburban parking lot, a wave of regret and longing crashed over me. Did I forget to tell Masana that I loved her this morning? In the midst of yet another one of my morning rants over half-eaten bowls of cereal and spilled juice, did I forget to show my kids that they are my only source of joy these days?
It was a hard day today, and the answering machine kept filling up with messages from people trying to "mother" me. Every time the phone rang, I cursed under my breath and walked out of the room. Today I hate everything and everyone.
Except my kids. Masana's note is currently taped to the top of my laptop, and it makes the hate in my heart disappear.
How long is forever in the mind of an eight year old? I remember feeling the same thing, or even writing similar little notes to my Mom. And it still stands true. Because even though she's not physically here, I still hold the love in me, and it burns me from the inside out. Sometimes I cannot stand to be touched.
I love you forever, Mom.
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