There is a tender mystery about life—little seeds are planted inside the heart, which grow over time. Most of us are unaware of these little seeds, but when the one you love departs from this world an unusual thing begins to happen. Those little unknown seeds begin to grow. At first we are unmindful of these little seeds, for the pain of the loss is so great. But, as that pain diminishes, or through the greatness of the pain, a tickling of something, a memory, a thought, a word, a trace of the past begins to show itself inside of us. A forgotten incident turns into a treasured heart sapling and then into the strength of a tree. Those words spoke so long ago reappear as new life. That face so cherished, which is no more, lives again as a sparkling polished diamond inside the heart: imperishable, forever there ... never to leave for all eternity. It is not to heaven or hell our beloved go, but into the innermost chambers of the heart.
If we are patient, if we are honest, if we are brave, the innermost chambers of our hearts will be revealed and loved, longing and hope will shine forth. Walking down into my heart, I hear the echoes of my mother’s loving voice reassuring my loneliness that I am not alone. I feel the vibrations of her beating heart down another chamber of my heart. And when my pain is quiet and the world is asleep, I hear her laughter and feel her kisses upon my cheek, and joy floods through the gates into the innermost chamber of my heart.
And sometimes ... when the world seems as if it is about to throw itself off its orbital course at last ... when it seems as if all the wolves will be slaughtered tomorrow ... when it seems as if no one will ever howl naked by the moonlight again ... I stand quietly under that very moonlight and look closely at the moon ... and see the reflection of my beloved mother looking down at me, smiling her beautiful smile and my heart is calm. For it is at that time moonbeams fill the chambers of my heart with love, longing, and hope.
A note: On June 19, 1988, my mother died. In 1996, I wrote this piece when I was convalescing from a serious illness in the house I grew up in. Every year since my mother died, around the middle of May, I sense mother’s presence. It’s as if she is telling me everything is okay, and she loves me and she is always with me. My sisters experience something similar. It is a tender time for my mother’s daughters. This piece is dedicated to my sisters, whom I love dearly.