Mother and Daughter - by Paul Gauguin
Another month has passed. And a few days more. She still remains gone. Gone for ever. But has she gone? She comes often. Lately she has been coming regularly.
At night when I close my eyes. In the wee hours of the morning when I am still not fully awake but not asleep either. Her face, her smile, her eyes, her voice.
Her voice from the time when her voice carried and expressed all the different shades and nuances of a mother's loving heart. The voice of a woman strong and independent, the voice of a mother full of love, concern and caring.
And yes, also her voice from the last year of her earthly life when it had begun to grow faint, feeble and weak. The voice of a mother who had to slowly accept the hard fact that her daughters will now be mothering her. The voice of a woman who had been the constant pillar of strength for so many in her life but had now become physically dependent on others for her most basic needs.
The ache in the heart, that feeling of hollowness inside, that sense of missing a presence...they seem to slowly fade away as the day slowly begins and the rhythm of life catches on. Only to resurface at night or in the early morning hours. Those eyes, that smile, that face, that voice. They will always remain, will never go away. She remains here, with me, in me and around me.