Missing MoM and Coffee Cups

Remembering Mom

“Do you know where all the coffee cups are?” My husband asked, showing me a remaining coffee cup from a collection of 6 we used to have. I said, "That's strange. I don't know." “Perhaps my mother is taking them,” I joked.

But part of me wanted that to be true. My mother passed away almost 16 years ago, and I have recently been thinking about her—only because I had not been thinking about her for a very long time. When she passed away in 2009, it was devastating. She was the heartbeat of our family, the love of our family. A gentle, quiet spirit. I mourned her for five years of panic attacks that I had never experienced before. I developed a fear of flying, which was something I used to look forward to and found relaxing. Now, just the thought of booking a flight brought about severe anxiety attacks. I couldn’t even get on the plane to attend her funeral.

Something just seemed to turn off inside of me—a joy, a belief in love. I can’t describe it, but Joyce Baker, to me, was life. I think I have only half lived since she passed. Sometimes, I wish she would “Tyler Henry” me and come to me in some sweet fashion that only she could. She was such a beautiful soul. Such a beautiful soul.

So, when my husband said that to me this morning, maybe that was her magic reaching out to me from wherever she is. Maybe that was her getting me to notice and pay attention to the fact that she is here, close to me, reminding me that she still is, but in some other form.

The coffee cup is significant because she drank her coffee every morning with a cigarette at the kitchen table. She would let me taste from her cup, and I liked it. It was always sweet and smooth like her.

Maybe she had taken the coffee cups to remind me not to forget her because I was. I conveniently buried the memory of her deep down inside myself so I didn’t have to feel the pain of losing her anymore. I stopped living in so many ways after she passed. The joy I used to find in things just dissipated.

But I want to keep my mother close to me—not to forget her, but to believe that she is right next to me, supporting me in my journey.

I used to say I wanted to be just like my mother, but now I want to live a life that my mother can be proud of. To take her with me on my journey of self-discovery and life discovery. I want to take her with me to Ireland with my daughter this year. To write and publish many stories, books, and poems.

For my mother to be proud of me.

Mom, if you are nearby, I will find you in the missing coffee cups. Talk to me as much as you can, as you want to, and however that is possible from the realm you are in. I know you’re pretty quiet, but I am listening.

Mom, I’ve been afraid for so long for so many things. It’s time for me to uncover and bring out the brave, bold parts of me that I want to be. Mom, let’s do this together. Let’s talk to each other through the coffee cups. I know you are close by. I just haven’t been paying attention. I’m sorry I pushed away your memory. I don’t want to forget you—your smile, your freckles, your gentle, kind voice, the way you pronounced "daawg." Maybe that’s why I love coffee cups so much—they remind me of you. I love and miss you very much.