"Here comes goodbye
Here comes the last time
Here comes the start of every sleepless night
The first of every tear I'm gonna cry
Here comes the pain
Here comes me wishing things had never changed
And she was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye."
Nine out of ten times we say "good-bye" knowing we will be saying,"Hello" in just a matter of time. But what about when that "one-in-ten time" becomes the one that sticks? Never to say "Hello or Good-Bye" again, and wondering if what you said the very last time you spoke was interpreted with the passion you felt?
Four years ago tomorrow, around 2PM, I said "Good-bye" to my Mom. I was fairly certain these last moments would be the last words she would hear from me; I am happy to say even though she did not respond (it was over the phone more than 300 miles away and she was in the final stages of life), I really do believe she heard me. I sure hope so, because I meant every damn word of what I said.
As you might suspect, I let her know my feelings about her as a Mom, Grandmother, and trusted friend; she knew me well, and even though she let me make most of the decisions that have ended up molding my life, she was there to help pick me up when I screwed up. She was that kind of person. Yes, she could be opinionated, but she had the passion and knowledge of someone who had been through a lot of life to provide good thinking. The unfortunate part, she still had plenty to give. However, she had no other options, Cancer took control of any plans she had been considering for the future and she was gone.
I often wonder if my Mom would be pleased with all that's happened in my life since her passing. How would she feel about the decisions I have made, the path I have taken, and how I have progressed since the final phone call we had? It's something I will never know; I can't even venture a guess. My thought, "I am sure she would be mixed...but supportive."
Of course one passion I hope she has noted has continued, has been my love for photography. Yes, this is only one of many passions, but it's one that has allowed me to put my heart out there for anyone who wants a look into the way I think. Scary as that might appear, it's the truth. My family knows how obsessed I can be on this topic.
Recently I have stepped back a bit, and have not been hearing the shutter click as frequently as it once did from my trusty Nikon; I still take many more photos than I did years ago, but lack of time for some reason has taken more of a front seat to everyday life. (No worries, instead of more than 200,000 photos a year, I am probably at 125,000.)
I now will often take photos, not view them, and place them on an external hard drive; promising myself I will look at them one day in the future. I am behind---thousands of photos await---yet there is one set of photos I have never looked at, and they are more than four years old. What's the topic you might be asking? They're of my Mom during the final 7 months of her life. I worked hard to capture these moments (she would not want anyone to see them) and they are so much a part of her life---just the final few months of it. (One day, I will look.)
Move forward 4 years.
Last week I learned of a book that was recently published called, "Humans of New York;" it's actually a very interesting look at life---through the lens of a young photographer and the stories he has captured along the way on the streets of New York. It made me realize, this was something I had been doing over the past few years as well. I am not at the point to launch a book, although I have considered it. Maybe this was something my Mom sent in some way to let me know, "Mark,it's time to get back into what you really love to do."
The photo above was taken long before my Mom left us. She was in the prime of her life, long before we had any idea there were cells splitting and re-splitting inside her healthy body---I, too, was a lot younger, such is life. Even though she is no longer available for a phone call, lunch or quick chat, she will always be in my thoughts---even if it's 1460 days after we said "Good-bye."
Thanks for stopping by.
