Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Matka Boska - how many times did I hear my Mother utter those words in the language of our ancestors? Her plea to the Blessed Mother to find the way to deal with three children and her husband. Sometimes masked with anger, at others - fear, desperation, even hope, but always asking; asking for help. Tonight we celebrated her Birthday once again without her physical presence.
Lighting candles in front of the photo of her with my Father and Sister I played Matka Boska for her, for them. This year I had to add another photo. One of my brother from the last time I saw him, enjoying pizza in our childhood haunt. Little did I know that August day, filled with laughter, that it would be our last laugh; our last goodbye. So tonight after thanking my Mother and playing her piece, I played Forget-Me-Knot, the piece that arrived during my grief.
Why does music come through me? I'll never know; but I am grateful that these pieces touch my heart and occasionally the hearts of others. A Mother's Love is never forgotten. And now I am finding out that neither is a Brother's.