I’m taking a break from my normal blog entries.  Mainly because the well is currently dry.   So I’m just going to write what’s on my mind right now.  My mom died 48 days ago.  This may sound odd but this is the longest I’ve ever gone without some kind of contact from her.  When I served my mission I could count on not-quite weekly letters from her.  Even when I lived in a different state, she was always just a phone call away – for chatting or emergencies (I just (sob) ran over Santa Claus!).  

I’ve become a member of an exclusive club.  A league I really didn’t want to join but here I am.  Now what?  I breathe in and out.  I eat and sleep.  I laugh and cry.  In other words, the current of life is carrying me downstream. 

I’m not worried about mom’s welfare.  I look forward to the time when we will meet again.  Yes, I believe that.  I have to hope in it.  Otherwise, what’s the point in today if there is no grand tomorrow?  Every person who sent condolences offered the same comfort – despite all the different dogmas. They offered the belief that mom was at peace now.  It’s funny how a lot of people with different faiths all agree on that point.  No, I’m not worried about mom’s eternal well-being.    I just miss her today.

I have what I refer to as, an acquired taste in humor.  There are only three people who get me.  I’m one of them.  Mom was another.  Yes, my audience is dwindling. The hardest part is not being able to share funny stories that happen.  This has led me to talk to myself.  I tell my stories out loud hoping she can hear them.  I close my eyes and imagine her reaction.  Whenever thoughts of her pop into my mind, I raise my hand and pump my hand three times.  Three squeezes and love you to pieces.

I entered the angry phase of the grief cycle.  Mom was an artist and painted ceramics for many years.  I talked her into taking it up again – with me.  Because I’m not an artist so she was going to help me.  We never got the chance, though.  So yeah, I’m angry about that.  There are a lot of things she will miss out on.  A line from the Princess Bride has been running through my mind.  An edited version, of course.  I’m not sure who I’m speaking to; it just makes me feel better to put it “out there.”  “I want my [mother] back you [son-of-a biscuit eater]!”  (That was mom’s fill in for the swear word so I thought it appropriate to use).

By no means am I claiming she was a perfect person.  But she was a pretty darn good mom for me.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be all right.  Thankfully, there were no hurt feelings before she died.  So, I don’t have any extra baggage to carry.  I’m grateful for the pain I feel.  It’s a mark of her well-lived life.  I’m honored I call her mom.  And I miss her.