another dimension

Galveston, August 2011

 

 

I admit it– I hate goodbyes.  They gut me, everytime.

When a significant relationship is severed by death, whithers due to physical or emotional distance, or comes to a decisive end, I imagine an alternate dimension. This place knows no limits of space or time, and the relationship in its finest moments and greatest joys, can live on into infinity.  For example, in this place Kirsten and I are still slugging through the snow, across a frozen lake in Minnesota; Shane and I are still driving under a starry New Mexico Sky with Paul Oakenfold filling our ears. 

The thing is, I don’t know where Mom fits into this dimension, because she was everywhere.  Her love was as ecompassing as the air I breathe.  She was the quiet joy of an everyday phone call. She was everything from a smell and a touch from the first moments of awareness, to my career counselor as an adult.  She was there for all the biggest days of my life and during lots of the mundane ones, too. 

She really liked the beach, though.  Maybe we are still there, bathed in an eternal sunshine.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “another dimension

  1. Barbara Snow

    That’s really beautiful Katy. I think of her by water too! When I visited her in August, she insisted we go down to Galveston for the day and it was wonderful. I’ll never forget it.
    Love, Barb

    Reply
  2. Allison Wood

    That brings me to tears, because that’s what I think of my mom. She was born and raised in San Diego and was always a beach girl, which makes the fact that we spread her ashes in the ocean so poignant. Your writing is moving and fascinating…. maybe Kathryn Clark, Best Selling Author is your true reality….
    Thank you so much for sharing your soul….
    Allison

    Reply
  3. John Shiner

    It’s hard to see this photo without connecting it to Nel’s cry out as she was getting in the car just after this.

    We have talked and you have written about how Nel didn’t show her feelings about death — except for that loud cry of deep anguish. She said something like: “I’ll never see the ocean again ! ! ! ! !” Then she went back to her caring focus on others.

    I would so like to hold her again.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s