Who Loves You, Baby?

It has been a difficult morning. Emotion sits on my chest and it is hard to take a deep breath. I know from my studies of Traditional Chinese Medicine that we hold unresolved grief in our lungs, and I wonder what pain I am still holding close. I sit to work, to write, but I soon grow restless and by noon I have re-collared the pups and set out on our second walk of the morning. There is now a sadness I am feeling and as tears come to my eyes I observe my actions with curiosity. Where is this coming from, I think to myself. What is the source of this deep grief? Then it comes to me, one year ago today we buried my mother in a deep grave amidst the thousands of white grave markers in Arlington National Cemetery.

No doubt, it is the exact hour when I was sitting with my brothers and sisters, friends and relatives on a clear August day in Washington. We knew there would be no time to linger with this funeral. In a time of war, the line-up of soldiers waiting to be buried is long. With military punctuality foremost on the agenda we had a small window of time, while another family waited to bury their dead. This is not the family plot in some small graveside in every small town in America. What it is, is meant to bring honor to every soldier and family of that soldier who has given their life for our freedom; but there is more, for also lying in many of those graves are the wives and children of those soldiers who have served their country with dedication and commitment. The unseen soldier’s family who wait at home worrying and praying for their safe return from war; the family who will leave their home at a moment’s notice to follow the path of the warrior wherever it may lead. My mother was an officer’s wife for 40 years and she now rests there with my father, her memory still alive in the hearts of her family.

Growing up, my mother and I were like oil and water. We could not have been more different and yet, physically, so much alike. Those last few years of her decline loosened our tongues to speak of our love and admiration for each other. We told stories of our past, not as mother and daughter, but as two women with a need to share the truth of their journey. We wondered how we had arrived at this point in our lives; she wondered how her role as my mother had affected who I am today. We apologized for hurts and the pain we might have caused the other and when we said good-bye I attempted, for once, to have the last word.

“In the next lifetime, mom, I get to be the mother.”

With her silent laughter and a twinkle in her Irish blue eyes she managed to have the final say.


Terry Vanderbush
Terry V5 years ago

Thnk you

Teresa Cowley
Teresa Cowley5 years ago

Thank you for the warm and wonderful story.

Robert O.
Robert O7 years ago

Good story and something to think about. My mother is aging and she and our personalities are like night and day, but our love for another trancends time, space and differences.

Katarina L.
Katarina L7 years ago

beautiful. tnx.

Brigit De Wilde
Brigit De Wilde7 years ago

Thanks for sharing.

Alexandra Rothe
Alexandra Rothe7 years ago

My infant daughter passed away last summer; I know how you feel.
What a beautiful and sad story.

Ann Eastman
Ann Eastman7 years ago

Lovely and touching- thank you for sharing those thoughts and memories.

Carole P.
Carole P7 years ago

Thank you for sharing your story.

No Name
Past Member 7 years ago


Maggiew18041 X
Maggiew18041 X7 years ago

My mother and Dad are also buried at Arlington. I understand what you mean about the clockwork timing of the services. Blessings to you - even before we are consciously aware of the anniversary - our soul is remembering