To those who are blessed enough to have their mother this Christmas, please remember to soak every last bit of it in.
Please remember to hug her so tight, that the way she smells is locked into your nose. Listen to all the stories you've heard a million times, like you've never heard a single one. Help her, even if it seems completely silly to you, help her mix that cake. Laugh, oh please laugh. Laugh at all her corky ways, at the way she mispronounces words, tries to be hip and use new-found lingo, or how she cusses when she forgot to get the rolls out of the oven but quickly asks the Lord for forgiveness.
Remember her laugh, etch it into your brain. Make her happy, if she wants to go riding around looking at Christmas lights down the same streets you've gone for years, do it. Don't fuss, take her advice, agree to just disagree on things. It's not worth it. Most importantly, remind her over and over how much you love her.
Because unlike you, I'm not able to see my mom on Christmas. I'm not able to see her on birthdays, Thanksgiving, or any other occasion. My time with her is up.
Death is the most permanent heartbreak.
How I long to hear her voice, her laugh. To feel her tight embrace. Smell — oh God, what I would give to just be able to smell her. I kept her pillow just to have her smell present as long as I could. I would absolutely love to go riding around for hours while she "oohs" and "ahhs" at every single house we pass. If I had the opportunity I'd tell her just how much I love her again, over and over, how I'm so thankful for all the sacrifices she made for me. In fact, I'm not sure I could ever tell her enough.
Some days I wake up and it still doesn't feel real. Others, I panic trying to remember exactly how she sounded. Because I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget a single characteristic about her. Not one.
Take time, not just on holidays, or special occasions to be with your mom. Even if it's just you two piled up watching reruns of her favorite shows, soak it in.
You only get one momma. Nobody could ever take her place.
So nicely written, and true. Thanks. Lost my mom about three years ago. I can relate to what you're saying.
For about a year after she died, I kept having moments where I thought of something I wanted to talk to her about, and nearly went to the phone to call her before I caught myself. It was a sad time, indeed. It doesn't seem real.
