After Mom passed,
sadness drifted in and out of my days 
like a hum in the distance, 
clearer whenever I looked its way. 

It didn’t come from the one
who had mothered my mother, 
nor the one who kept wishing for more. 
It came from the wee child 
who missed her mommy, 
missed her warm body,
her soft voice, 
how she gentled my wayward hair 
back into the fold. 

I don’t have these memories, 
but my child self does. 
She found more throughout my life, 
the way Mom found four-leaf clovers when no one else did.
This child found what was 
in a field of what wasn’t. 

Now our mother is gone 
from touch and sight and sound, 
gone from the smell of her bread in the oven, 
gone from the taste of her apricot jam. 

She was never enough for the one who wanted more, 
but this little one didn’t see what wasn’t, 
only what was, 

and now she closes her eyes 
and remembers. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body 
love what it loves. 
— Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Credits and References:
Four Leaf Clover by Mary. Used with permission. 
What Was by Esther Hizsa, 2026
Photo of Sylvia, Harry, Ron, me and our mom going to the beach.

© Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim, 2026.
The unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without permission from Esther Hizsa is prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used provided there is a link to the original content and credit is given as follows: © Esther Hizsa, An Everyday Pilgrim 2013-2026.  http://www.estherhizsa.com