More than half my life

Thirty years ago, I was already an adult. I had lived away from home and thought I knew something about life. But I had no idea little I knew. I found out, with a crushing blow, a never fully-healed blow, on this day in 1984 when I heard that my mother had died in the night. Cancer - yes, weak - yes, but still full of strong hope and prayer and love. We had no idea, my sisters and I, how this could have happened so suddenly, how there could be so brutally little warning. Thoughts of the shortening of her suffering were scant consolation in that cruel winter. Now - on just such a day of icy sun - I have the leisure to look back and consider how the scars have grown over. But  - when I think of my children, and the smallness of our Christmas - they are still there. I can only try and copy the warmth of her affection, and value my survival.

Gabriel Bergonzi, 1938-1984.