Age of Grace

She lives in a theater, she lives by the sea.

She lives in my soul, she lives within me.

I see her face, pieces in mine.

How I learn, her voice, still kind. 

We age together, though she is not here. 

She teaches the importance of releasing my fear. 

I see her differently the older I grow. 

Her death is a comfort, as I, too, will pass, I know. 

Parents and children, a curious bunch.

Let them be, for in time, there is much.

Relationships are complex, there is no other. 

Give, forgive, embrace the love and grace.

Gently and sweetly, I kiss my mother. 

Connie at the Stage Door  Segerstrom Center for the Arts  1/7/2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birthday Love

Mom and Carin – 2011

“So listen, it’s your birthday today? May your day be filled with wonder. I celebrate you, my darling girl.”

What you once would say to me, I now say to you.

Dear Mom,

You are a young 82 years this fine birthday. While you’re not physically here next to me, your presence is felt throughout my life. Strange thing about death: longer you’re gone, the closer you feel. There’s sense of comfort, which replaces longing. I feel you most sitting on a beach or in a live theater: my two most favorite places.

It’s been four and a half years since you left the planet. I won’t go into all you’ve missed because you have more productive things to do, I’m sure. The one thing I will share is how much I loved watching the Tony Awards. Seriously. Next time I go visit NYC, you’re definitely coming along for the trip. By the time we see Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda will probably be performing in a wheelchair during his umpteenth revised production. 😉

Life is good, mama. It’s been a tough run, though thinking about your life and all you experienced, not as tough as I once thought. Perhaps that happens as we grow older. Perspectives change as we change. Life offers an interesting mix of experience. Makes for rides worth remembering. Even when rides veer off into oncoming traffic, for an instant, we are transported into something bigger that we can’t see, yet it’s there. It’s called ‘faith’, mama. We’d have some pretty rad conversations about faith these days. I miss our tawks, about anything and everything.

Thanks for the love, mom. It’s more alive than ever.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Carin