This was written by a friends co-worker and will be in Sundays Hartford Courant (our local newspaper) 
Lipstick Kisses
by Hope Howley
“What do you want for Mother's Day?” my 6-year-old asked me.
I realized I was having trouble catching my breath. What I really wanted for Mother's Day was my mother.
For the first time in my life, this was not possible. My mother passed away four days before Christmas. This Mother's Day, I am a child (OK, really a middle-aged woman) without a mother.
Those who have lost their mothers can understand the depth of the grieving you go through at any age. It is club you do not want to be a member of. But after you join, you seek out the others because only they understand the sadness that settles. Denial works for a while — until a song or a thought pops into your head, and you feel a chill in place of the warmth that is gone forever, and you quickly remember you will never — no, never — see your mother again.
For those who have not yet experienced this loss, please be grateful and know you have a gift. I am sure your mother can often be a burden — mine was. I am sure she can drive you crazy — mine did. I am sure she knows everything — mine did. But I am sure she loves you more than life itself — mine did. I can tell you something for sure: When she is no longer here on earth, you will miss her each and every day — I do.
My mother believed that all was good if you had your lipstick on during your every waking hour and it must be bright red. In the end, as she lay dying, I looked at her now colorless lips and was taken back to the time when those colorful lips smiled and yelled often and were quick to offer a lipstick kiss. With tears streaming down my face, I realized how many of those great kisses I had hastily wiped away from my cheeks over the past 40-plus years and what I wouldn't do for just one more.
My mother was right (yes, Mom, I have finally admitted it!): Lipstick does brighten one's face. Although her face will never be bright again, I find it is the bright, good things about my mother that I remember as the colorless, bad things have quickly faded away. Wouldn't it have been great if I had done this when she was alive?
If there is one thing I can tell you on this Mother's Day, it is to treasure your mother and celebrate the day. Leave the lipstick kiss on as a celebration of her life and love for you. When death comes, it is so final. There are no more kisses but only the memory of them to bring a small tear and then a smile.
Lipstick Kisses
by Hope Howley
“What do you want for Mother's Day?” my 6-year-old asked me.
I realized I was having trouble catching my breath. What I really wanted for Mother's Day was my mother.
For the first time in my life, this was not possible. My mother passed away four days before Christmas. This Mother's Day, I am a child (OK, really a middle-aged woman) without a mother.
Those who have lost their mothers can understand the depth of the grieving you go through at any age. It is club you do not want to be a member of. But after you join, you seek out the others because only they understand the sadness that settles. Denial works for a while — until a song or a thought pops into your head, and you feel a chill in place of the warmth that is gone forever, and you quickly remember you will never — no, never — see your mother again.
For those who have not yet experienced this loss, please be grateful and know you have a gift. I am sure your mother can often be a burden — mine was. I am sure she can drive you crazy — mine did. I am sure she knows everything — mine did. But I am sure she loves you more than life itself — mine did. I can tell you something for sure: When she is no longer here on earth, you will miss her each and every day — I do.
My mother believed that all was good if you had your lipstick on during your every waking hour and it must be bright red. In the end, as she lay dying, I looked at her now colorless lips and was taken back to the time when those colorful lips smiled and yelled often and were quick to offer a lipstick kiss. With tears streaming down my face, I realized how many of those great kisses I had hastily wiped away from my cheeks over the past 40-plus years and what I wouldn't do for just one more.
My mother was right (yes, Mom, I have finally admitted it!): Lipstick does brighten one's face. Although her face will never be bright again, I find it is the bright, good things about my mother that I remember as the colorless, bad things have quickly faded away. Wouldn't it have been great if I had done this when she was alive?
If there is one thing I can tell you on this Mother's Day, it is to treasure your mother and celebrate the day. Leave the lipstick kiss on as a celebration of her life and love for you. When death comes, it is so final. There are no more kisses but only the memory of them to bring a small tear and then a smile.
