My Mother and no accidents

Winona Joy Maddox Henderson

 Oh, how she loved to dress up
in all her pretty things.
A woman of true style, beauty and grace.
A blue-eyed platinum blonde, delicate and fragile,
yet this beauty endured more pain than one should
be dealt in a lifetime.

Everyone loved her. So sweet, so kind,
so beautiful they would say.
She would listen to my words for hours,
never believing there was a side other than mine.

A huge hole exists where she once was.
A hole so enormous it can never be filled up.
Consuelo called her Queen.
I called her Mother.

Today marks the 5th anniversary of my Mother’s death. It was on a Monday, just like today. We carry things with us and I carry her in my heart daily. Today I received a gift. Actually there were two. I attended an End of Life Conference at work. At one point there was a nurse panel answering questions. The panel was asked what they did once they got home from work after a death. A young red-haired nurse responded that she always called her Mother. My mind was flooded with memories of my Mother. We spoke daily when she was alive. She was the one I called when I was upset, had great news to share or just felt like talking. My Mother would have been the one I would have called if I’d been in that red-haired nurse’s shoes.

My second gift was another memory of my Mother. During a break at the conference, I was standing in a very long line, waiting to get coffee. The woman in front of me turned and I was astonished to see her necklace. It was a Faberge Egg pendant. My Mother had one and other than hers, I had never seen one. Just the day before I had picked up my Mother’s pendant while going through some jewelry. It felt as if the hair on my arms was standing straight up. The woman went on to tell me it was a gift from her husband’s niece after his death earlier this year. I also learned her husband had overseen the care of Pier 70, the Pier across the street from my first home in Seattle.

Coincidence? No. Gift from above? You bet it was. He planned out every detail, down to where I stood in line for my coffee. A wonderful remembrance of my Mother.

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