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  • Writer's pictureBridgette Goldstein

You Can't Go Home Again

It is Mother’s Day. As I sit here, drinking my morning coffee, my mind drifts to memories of my mom. Apparently, I was a bit of a handful when I was a young child. I would scream, for no apparent reason, sending my mom rushing to my side to find me happily playing. Now I don’t remember this, but many family members do. I guess that’s when it all started, this feeling that Mom would always be there, no matter what, when she became my home.

It is funny, in my twenties, I thought I knew everything. Mom was so out of touch with how the world worked. Her advice was so strange, and her cautions seemed unrealistic. But she was always there for me. Any issue that would come up, no matter how messy, I could always run to Mom. When things got really bad or I just could not deal, I could always come home, and she and her wonderful hugs would always be waiting. Even as she was sometimes saying “I told you so”, it was while I was wrapped in the warmest hug. No matter how many times I would mess up or get myself in a sticky predicament, she was always there, helping me figure a way out – my friend, my cheerleader.

As time went on, she became my confidant, my anchor, my sage. It was so comforting to know that Mom had my back, no matter what. I could talk to her about anything. Granted, some of the stuff was a bit embarrassing, but never let on that she was shocked, most of the time. More importantly, I could explore and have adventures and go way outside my comfort zone and if things got too crazy, she was always there to bring me back from the edge. I could always come home again. Mom would make everything better. She taught me how to be strong and compassionate at the same time. It was amazing the wisdom that she would share. I don’t remember the exact point, but I came to know that she was the strongest, most inspirational person in my life.

A few years ago, I made a life decision to move from Los Angeles, California to a tiny town in North Texas to live with her and we would take care of each other for this time in our lives. I was back home. A short time later, Mom decided that her passport for this earth had expired and transitioned into the next chapter of her soul experience. I am in the same house, a few years later, on Mother’s Day and while I am in my house, I am not home. Home, as I knew it, can never be again. My heart breaks as this reality sinks deeper into my soul. I feel her energetically watching over me and her hugs at times, but never again will I feel the physical warmth of her embrace, hear her voice as she tells me everything is going to okay. No longer do I have my confidant, my anchor, my sage, my mom. I can’t go home again, because my home no longer exists in this life.

Grief knows no time or space, it can sneak up on you like a sunburn on a cool summer day. I take comfort in having had her as my mother – selfless, loving and strong. I carry on her legacy by living here in this North Texas town, sharing what I have learned and hoping to pass on her wonderful love and strength combined with compassion and awareness, not only to the people here, but to the people around the world as well. While it is true, I cannot go home again, I must continue my path. What that looks like and where that leads, I do not yet know, but I do know that I am well prepared thanks to Mom. Happy Mother’s Day Mom, wherever you are.

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