To My Mom

Dear Mom,

Today is one of those days.  It is a day I need you.  You would give me sound advice and make me laugh.  This is one of the things I miss most about you.

You were a woman of strength and courage.  You divorced in a time when divorce was nearly unheard of; you went to work when women your age were home raising children and baking cookies.  Despite coming home to an empty house, which I hated by the way, I learned many things; cooking, laundry and grocery shopping.  Basics I would need for the "real" world at the tender age of thirteen.

You were an incredibly social lady.  When you divorced, you got the house and dad took the friends.  To develop a new social circle after 22 years was painful for you.  These friends were not nearly as prominent as the one in your "old" life.  I know that hurt. 

You seemed to need a man in your life.  As an adult, I understand the loneliness you felt but as a child, it was difficult.  It is not easy being a single woman in this world.  You showed me what not to do when divorced.  I have chosen a different path; yet, yours seemed to work for you.  It would never work for me.  

You were always witty.  You were also incredibly smart despite not having a college education.  I liked that you made me laugh and offered pearls of wisdom.  I think you passed that along to me, as many people think I am pretty hilarious; yet, I also have a more serious side.  Like you, people seek my advice.  You were incredibly straightforward.  You believed in what you said and did.  You had an amazing confidence.  Maybe because you were so incredibly beautiful.  I am just now learning in my 50's to live for me. I'm finding it's okay to be a little selfish.  I'm also figuring out that I don't have to please everyone -- that it's okay to be whoever I am. 

You believed in God but never attended church.  You had bad experiences growing up and even into early adulthood.  You said that you didn't believe in that Jesus stuff.  It was hard to accept those words as you were ill with cancer.  You did not want to talk spirituality or about your disease.  I did not understand that and I still don't.   As your disease progressed, you showed true bravery in the face of death.  Yet, one day, you woke up weak and barely able to move.  It was a sight I could hardly bear. It was the beginning of the end and I never saw that coming.

I am thankful I had a chance to pray with you.  That God gave us a few minutes alone together in the hospital.  I am not a bold person except when I write; and most certainly, if there were a nurse or anyone else about, I'd have missed that opportunity.  I know it gave you peace.  You talked about a "faith healing" afterwards.

You had a peaceful passing and despite your death, I had my own sense of peace.  I grieved throughout your illness; by time you passed, I had already cried a million tears.   I do miss you but know you are "home".  You are where you needed to go -- to your heavenly Father. 

I miss our daily talks.... I miss your smile, your soft hands and your incredible way of making those around you feel loved and secure.   Summer nights always remind me of you tucking me in bed when I was a child; the window open and hearing the cicadas outside with a gentle breeze blowing the curtains.  I miss those days...I miss you!

As I think back on your life, you didn't miss a beat.  You lived life on your terms and I admire that about you.  I wish I had the guts!  When you passed, you had done everything you wanted to do; of that, I had no doubt.

So, why am I writing?  To tell you "Thank you, mom!"  You taught me how to be a good mom, how to love others, how to throw a fabulous party, how to cook and to just be happy.  I remember you telling me one day that when you walked into my own house that you could "feel the love."  When I told that story to my eldest son, he said it was because of me.  I tend to think it was because of you.  Either way, the love was there.  That is the most important gift you could ever pass along!

If you were alive today, I'm sure we would talk.  We would compare imaginary illnesses, throw in some salty language and have a good laugh.  I would hold your soft hand in mine and say a silent prayer.  I would also thank God for giving me such a great mother! 

Until we see each other again...
Lisa