Healing Stories

Six months have gone by and still I can't wrap my mind around the 'story' of my mother's death. One minute she was here and the next she'd slipped into eternity. Driving by the nursing home last week, my neice was just sure I'd be tempted to stop. So many times I am tempted. Maybe I continue to visit the thrift shop near it because it's an attachment that remains.

My first grief support group session was today. The tears were so near the front, we danced around, getting some where, I'm sure. Talking for an hour about what doesn't hurt, finding it too hard to talk about what's really hurting.

I miss ma, that's what I called her, not mama, mom, it was always the country "ma". Sometimes, it was embrassing, yet I continued because anything less would have betrayed the many times 'ma' was all I needed to summon her help, her prayers, her smile or frown.

I know that stories are healing for others, this time, I am the one standing in need of a story and I'm waiting for someone to help me find the one that will do the trick. Isn't there a story, like a magic wand that will make it all better. I have several I've read and they are all good, they just aren't magic.

I'll keep telling stories, keep remembering and just know that one day, I can go to Milledgeville and not feel the conpulsive need to visit that little thrift shop near Green Acres Nursing home.