The Last Day of Spring | Dyed Cloth & Stitching

The last time I saw my mother alive was in a hospital bed at Wilson Medical Center. Even though she died two years ago in the month of May, the memories of her dying haunt me each year on the last day of spring. The news that she wasn’t going to survive falling and breaking her hip came as a slap in the face to my heart. My mind knew the reality but my heart was in total denial. Momma was ninety years old and after our dog’s Snoop death a month before she had lost her will to live. My momma was a survivor. She had come through breast cancer, a broken heart and a wounded spirit to be a kind champion for justice and equality. Momma and I talked on the phone multiple times a day, and that’s what I miss most.

She would always say, “I love you and I like you, too!”

I miss hearing my momma’s voice. I miss her joy, and I miss her being overly protective of me.

“Dream big and aim high! Don’t just say your dreams, show them!” I can hear her saying in my mind.

The lack of ability that one feels in being able to see through the dark murky veil of grief feels overwhelming on days like today. Once the shock wears off, the funeral is over and you’re left alone fatigue sets in. It feels like being in a heavy mist of ominous gray clouds during an afternoon thunderstorm after a hot humid Carolina summer day.

I hear my momma’s voice in my mind and sense her presence but she is as elusive as a sheet of off-white colored cirrostratus clouds.

I sit in her favorite chair in the family room looking at our dog, Snoop’s toys neatly stacked in his little red wagon and whisper the words, “I love you and I like you, too!”

I feel a mixture of joy and pain. Joy for the privilege of having a momma who lived to be ninety years old. Joy for being blessed by having parents, grandparents and great-grandparents who loved me. But pain, knowing that they are all buried in Rest Haven Cemetery.

Published by Carola Jones, Artist

Indigenous Artist, Writer, Designer | Internet Techie | Pow Wow Dancer | Lover of Dyeing Cloth Especially With Indigo, Madder & Marigold | 4th Generation Hand Embroidery & Sewing Enthusiastic | Working Traveler | NC Toisnot & Mattamuskeet Tuscarora & FL Seminole | Algonquin Gullah Mixed Blood

2 thoughts on “The Last Day of Spring | Dyed Cloth & Stitching

  1. I am sorry for your loss. I think we always miss our mothers. Mine’s been gone 16 years and I still wish I could talk to her, see her, be with her. Sending you a big hug.

    Liked by 1 person

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