By Cindy Walker Burton

“Even now,

When I never hear your name,

  and the world has changed so

  much since you’ve been gone.

Even now I still remember and   

  the feeling’s still the same,

  and this pain inside of me goes

  on and on.

Even now.”

Those are lyrics from Barry Manilow’s 1973 ballad, “Even Now.” The earnest words reflect how I feel upon the third anniversary of my mother’s passing (Pat Walker: February 17, 2023). Mom’s wings were poised for her heavenly flight home, but my heart was not prepared to let her fly. The last day of her life was the worst day of my life. Even now.

I keep Mom’s memory alive with framed photos honoring her throughout my home. I keep bright red cardinals inside and outside my home (her favorite bird). I share cherished memories of her with my daughter Shannon and brother Michael. She appears in my dreams and she lights the corners of my mind. I can still hear her reassuring voice and see her beautiful smile. Even now.

A song, a scent, or a season can send waves of sorrow crashing over me, around me, and through me. Hearing someone call out for their mother makes me pause. I wish my one and three year-old grandsons knew their great-grandmother. Even now.

Each time I take my daily walk, I remember Mom sharing walks with me, riding happily on her blue power scooter beside me. When I am at a movie theater, I recall her sitting next to me in her wheelchair excitedly anticipating the movie. When I drive past St. Paul Catholic Church, I recall taking her to Mass and how grateful she was to worship in the house of the Lord. When I see my childhood home, I see her. Even now.

Her absence is as big as the sky and as wide as the oceans. Even now.

Everyone reading my story has felt the piercing pain and aching agony of losing a precious loved one. May we all find comfort and peace in the midst of our sorrow. Even now.