When I'm sick or life kicks me in the nasty bits, that's when I need my mom most. I want her to make me some chicken soup or hand me a candy bar and tell me I'm beautiful and everything is going to be just fine.
Mom has been gone for over three years. I don't think you ever get over losing your parents. They are the lighthouse when you're on turbulent waters. When the light goes out, you're left to wander the seven seas alone.
I do talk to my folks on a regular basis. Sometimes I can feel them nearby, other times, not so much. I sense my mom when I'm trying to sew something or I'm trying a new recipe. I'll contemplate taking a shortcut, and I'll hear her admonishing me. Or I'll be bringing in too many bags from the trunk of my car, and I'll hear her whisper, "Lazy man's load," right before I lose my grip and drop one of them.
Looking back, I wonder how she did it. With few exceptions, my mom held it together very well. Until the last few years of her life when her mind failed her, she was the glue that bonded our family. She was counselor, master hugger, comfort food maven and the source of seemingly bottomless love for us.
This morning, I was thinking about how much fun she made holidays like Halloween. She decorated the house, carved the pumpkin, and managed to keep us from chomping all the candy before the trick-or-treaters arrived. She helped us go through the limited selection of costumes and applied makeup where necessary. Then she kept an eye on us after we'd schlepped door-to-door to make sure we didn't consume all of our candy that night.
I wondered if Mom knew I was writing about her. I had a feeling she did. So, I decided to ask her a question.
"Hey, Mom, is all of this stuff in my life going to work out?"
"We'll see," she said.
Of course.
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