Dear Friends,
You know what’s a better description for the word, coincidence? Meaningful nothings. That’s what they are. Coincidence sounds so scientific. I get the essence of the word – coincide – a coincidence is when two otherwise unrelated things align in an odd occurrence of solidarity. They are little messages from the universe saying, “Hey, what’s up guys – here I am!” Sometimes it’s a way of people from beyond giving us living people a message, I like to think. And sometimes they are just nothings. Superfluous, meaningless, heart-wrenching nothings. Is it a sign, you might ask, or just a mere coincidence?
This time of year, more than ever, I think of my mother. I think of her struggles and choices as a woman. I think of the strong person she was in my life and how she loved me unconditionally. She lives on my block, you know. It says Jessica heart Dianne in the cement on my street. Pretty cool, right? I’m leaving it though. I have to. I am scared that it’s a bad move – that leaving Jessica heart Dianne Street will hurt me more than benefit me. It wasn’t until last Saturday did I notice that my mother died exactly 20 days after my birthday. We are ever-connected by the number 4, oddly enough. My mom always had a thing about numbers.
My mom passed away on September 14th, 1999. Nearly twelve years have passed and I am beginning to forget. That’s why I wrote the book, that’s why I think of her as often as I can and talk about her as frequently as possible.
Luckily, it is tougher for humans to shake the memory of emotion, rather than physical memories. I can’t remember where I had dinner ten years ago, but the mashed potatoes were amazing. I can’t remember what it was like to be in a relationship with my college boyfriend, but I remember feeling loved, excited, and happy. Coincidences can evoke these emotions; that’s why they are important for people to take notice of, and then let go. I can’t remember why exactly I was so struck by someone, but I can feel it in my soul. I can’t always remember being in the same room with my mother, but I remember what hugging her felt like and the way her green eyes could light up a room. Eyeliner never complemented a woman more.
The Butterfly Groove is the my love letter to our relationship that never quite budded, and the intricacies in which I’ve had to get close to her from beyond the grave. When I think of my mom, however, I do not picture her in the ground. I picture her everywhere. And sometimes, our souls still collide, I know they do. And that’s when my mom hands me a coincidence. She’s here to tell me she gets what I’m feeling but can’t personally deliver the message so she coincides what matters to me most in life at that moment (that frequently changes, mind you) and makes it special by being random.
I almost forgot how much she loved me. Isn’t that sad? I read one of her notes that she wrote to me when she was on the ventilator and it was like a dagger to my heart. I never meltdown about her, but I did. She motivated me, she showed me how to write and how to charm people. But most importantly, she taught me how to be a lady somehow, as a child. All of those nothings as a kid I can recall, were actually meaningful. And I know that was no coincidence, my mom was planting seeds in me that have recently bud. So thank you, mom. For all the seemingly meaningful nothings turned me into a woman and most proudly, your daughter.
Kisses,
Jessica
