Laura
Ten years ago, the world lost my mother. My grief for her is infinite, and over the years I’ve come to accept the grief as a part of me, ever evolving and ever present in my life’s journey. And today, on the 10-year anniversary of her death, I’m honoring the incredible human being who was my mother.
My mother, Laura Elizabeth Hall, was a woman who could confound you and completely disarm you. She had an uncanny ability to communicate truthfully when prompted. She wasn’t always good with words, often getting caught up or tripped up by them (a trait I’ve inherited). But her body, her mannerisms, her grunts, her breaths, her gestures–they all spoke the truth, and you knew it.
As far as I could tell, shame or embarrassment were not common feelings for my mama. She could be remorseful, but she had no apologies for who she was. She embodied herself, flaws and all. She could be unbearably headstrong and stubborn, wanting things to be her way or the highway. Even now, I hear her voice in my head telling me how to make my bed properly or the best way to fold a towel. My mom was funny and clever. She had a playful sense of humor, and she loved to cut up and laugh about it. And when she laughed–when she really got going–not a person in her vicinity could refrain from joining in. Her laugh hit on a cellular level.
One of the things I loved most about my mama was her sense of curiosity. She was a forever-student, always asking questions, always curious to learn more. She could find interest in just about anything– other people’s lives (one of the reasons she was such a good friend), other cultures (never tokenizing, always stemming from a place of genuine desire to understand), foods (I doubt she’d turn down a worm if you told her it tasted good), ideas (I’d catch her looking up meanings of words and reading books about concepts she wanted to know more about). You’d mention something, and odds were, she’d ask you about it.
My mama was brave–the bravest person I’ve ever known. She faced heartbreak, despair, and pain head-on. Of course, she experienced fear (courage is only possible in the face of fear), but she accepted things as they came. She didn’t always know what was to come, but she always looked toward new horizons.
And of course, she was an incredible mother—the best, in my humble opinion. I can close my eyes and imagine her rubbing my back like she did all those nights growing up when I couldn’t sleep. I feel her bony hands holding mine and still see the freckles and moles and veins as her hand wraps around mine. And in the ten years since she’s been gone, when I’m at my worst–frightened, stressed, or suffering–I can tune out the world and feel my mother’s presence and love for the person I am. Never has there been a person who saw me, heard me, witnessed me like my mother. That transcends time and physicality. My mama’s love is eternal, and today, especially, I honor that.
