It doesn’t seem like eight years. I shouldn’t be able to close my eyes and replay that evening. It’s not fair that I can see it all and hear it all. It’s not fair that my mom was taken from me. I was only 17. I was pregnant. I needed her.
I wish there was a way that you could know, for sure, if someone would die from cancer. Why? Because then we would spend more time with that person. We would forgive, we would create new memories. We wouldn’t hold grudges or wish they were gone. I wish I had spent more time with my mom, even silly mundane things like going to the grocery store with her. I wish we had created more memories and more stories that I could share with my children.
I vow to do that with my children. Initiate more moments together. When my time is up, I want them to be able to smile and laugh about the silly things we did. To remember all the times I embarrassed them, or when I held them when they were sick. I want them to remember our vacations, our stay-cations, and the little mundane things like folding laundry together.
We only get so long, and we don’t know when that time is up. We can’t expect anyone else to create these mental images and stories for our children, we have to get up and get out and do things together.
Eight years ago today, October 22nd, I lost my mom to cancer. Cancer sucks. It truly fucking sucks. I miss my mom so much. When we found out that our third baby was a girl, I felt like I was being hugged. I felt warmth and I know my mom was there. She never got that chance to hold any of my babies. While in the hospital with a sleeping baby and not wanting to go to sleep even though I was beyond exhausted I would imagine she was there. She would slowly and with expertise pick up a swaddled baby and bring them close. She would kiss them in “her spot” – right under their ear at the neck. It’s the same place I give them sweet kisses from her. She would whisper a soft “Shhh…” and gently bounce her grandson or granddaughter while I drifted off to sleep. I would so love to watch her with her grandbabies, so I imagine it.
I often sense that she’s here. On several occasions, I have smelled cigarette smoke. No one in this house smokes (no one will ever be allowed to, I will not have that in my house). It’s brief, that smell. It’s comforting to know that she might be near me. I think she’s been here for all the important moments – our wedding day, all three children being born, birthdays, holidays.
Eight years ago my mom passed away. Everyday she lives on in my memories.
If you’re wondering, from left to right is my grandma, me, my mom, and my sister. My mom and grandma have both passed away. We (my sister, brother, and I and our children all 7 of them!) have two angels watching over us.