Today is the second anniversary of my mother's passing. I wrote this post not too long after she died. The pain, of course, has lessened, but the lesson learned has not changed. Tell them over and over while they're alive how much you love them. One day it's too late. Ben Kinney recently lost his mother. He asked that in lieu of sending flowers, people send flowers to their own mothers. Brilliant idea!
My mother died recently, and although she was 93, I never thought it would happen. She had lived with us for ten years and was always so strong and self-sufficient.
My mother died recently, and at the age of 61, I often wondered if I would ever have my life back while there was much of it left to live. It had become difficult over the past few years to leave for more than an hour because she panicked whenever I left the house. Even when others were here, it was me she depended on, me who was her security.
My mother died recently, and I’m shocked at how many tears the human body can produce. At the oddest times for random reasons, I cry.
“Mimi, I’m out of Shalimar. Could you get me some?” “Mama, you can’t possibly be out of Shalimar. I bought you three bottles in December. You must’ve put them somewhere we haven’t found yet.” She loved her Shalimar. I didn’t ever get around to buying her more.
My mother died recently, and instead of ‘having my life back,’ I’ve hidden myself away to deal with the grief. I know that in my lifetime I'll never stop mourning her loss, but the grief will lessen, and I'll be able to think of her without crying.
My mother died recently, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her, or wish I could tell her how much she meant to me, or love on her, which is all she ever wanted. But I was so busy, I had so much work to do. “Would you sit with me if you knew I was going to die today?” She said it so often, it was like the little boy who cried wolf. Instead of making me want to sit, it made me think she was guilting me.
My mother died recently, and I was blessed with being with her for eighteen hours a day the last two weeks of her life. “Does your dad ever visit you?” she asked late one night during an intimate conversation. “He hasn’t in a while, but he used to right after he died,” I said. “Good. I don’t want to spook you, but I hope the Lord will let me visit every now and then to let you know how much I love you.”
My mother died recently, and there aren’t many days when I’m out that I don’t find something I want to buy her. I was conscious that she couldn’t leave often, and I loved to pick up little gifts or treats to bring her. She was always so appreciative.
My mother died recently, and a few days beforehand she asked me where we should meet after she passed. “We sit for hours every night together in front of the fireplace. How about we meet there?” I teased. “That’s a great idea! How will you know it’s me? Oh! I know! I’ll call you Madeline Maria, then you’ll know I’m here.” I haven’t yet heard her say my name.
My mother died recently, and I’ve only given away some of her clothes. When I open the closet and smell the Shalimar, I close it again until I’m a little stronger.
My mother died recently, and I remember telling one of my daughters that I was afraid to be too close to my mom because it would hurt too much when she passed. Little did I know that very attitude would be the single biggest sorrow for me of her passing.
My mother died recently, and sometimes I pick up the phone to tell her when I’ll be home. I no longer know how to reach her.
My mother died recently, and it was so special the day before she died when she opened her eyes and saw me sitting with her, holding her hand, and said, “You’re so pretty! I love you.” Those would be the last words she spoke to me. It was my birthday.
My mother died recently, and I want to tell everyone who still has their mother or father or children or a spouse or loved one – treasure them while you can. Don’t ever let a day go by without letting them know how much you love them. Life is short. There aren’t any do-overs when it’s finished.
Here's a video I made for her memorial service.