Four Years Ago

It’s just like they always say – the days are long, but the years are short. I’ve had a lot of long days, but when I look back, I can’t really figure out how four years have gone by since I’ve seen my mother.

For her funeral, I wrote something for her that was read aloud during the service. Four years later, it still rings true.

 

I cannot find my tennis shoes.  I’ve been looking for them for a couple of days now – in closets, in the laundry room, underneath the piano.  It seems my mother has put them in a safe place and didn’t mention it to me.

That’s the way she is – my mother.  Cleaning up, picking up, organizing.  She bought folders for paperwork, kept stamps in a special container, put the extra boxes of Kleenex in a cabinet downstairs.  Everything had a place.  Everything.

And she was the only one who knew where everything was.

Even in college, I can remember calling her to ask her where something was.  And she knew.  She had put it away so it wouldn’t get lost.

My mother.

My mother was my anchor.  My mother was my compass.  If she was upset, I was upset.  If she was worried, I was worried.  If she was elated, it rubbed off on me.

My mother traveled miles and miles and hours and hours to be with me.  She held my babies when they were first born. She brought me everything I could have ever wanted and more.

I had just shy of 29 years with my mother and it was not enough time.  I’m not sure that 100 years with my mother would have been enough, but 29 was most certainly not.  But I am beyond grateful for the time that I did have – for the time that we talked on the phone – every single day – for the times that we spent face to face, and for the time that she had with my girls.

I will miss my mother.

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