My Mother's Clothes Are Not My Mother

My family is not the only family to grieve the loss of a loved one, to mourn the passing of time and the absence of someone in our daily life. My family is no different from yours. Our experience no different than yours.

After my mother died, I spent several days on the coast of Maine in the company of writers, a company I crave, a company that drives my creative side, my love of the language. Over the course of those few days I shared my grief with one of the women there. A women who was an acquaintance then. A women who is a friend now.

We talk now about a lot of things, our jobs, our writing, our husbands and our mothers. We talk about that weekend. We talk about our grief.

We shared a lot on that weekend and from that has come a friendship, a sharing in each other's lives that has gone beyond our grief. But while we have gone beyond our grief, we still carry it with us, hold it deep inside where is rests sometimes peacefully and other times enraged.

We have both used words to heal our grief, mine here in this blog, hers in a more formal fashion, a play. A one woman play that premieres next month (see the notice below and if you are in the Portland area I encourage you to attend...I've heard some of this and you will not be disappointed!).

Words hold great power. They can cause tremendous harm or bring true healing. My friend and I prefer the latter.

"MY MOTHER'S CLOTHES ARE NOT MY MOTHER" premieres at the St. Lawrence Arts Center in Portland on Sept. 15. For information, go to www.stlawrencearts.org.