I always miss my mom. Some days I miss her more than others.
Sometimes I would love to share something with her. Other times I miss her views on life (always amusing but on target).
I miss her unconditional love. She supported me even when she was banging her head on the walls saying “What is she thinking?”
I’d love to have her advice on stuff. Not so much the living process but certainly the getting old process. I want her version of waking up one morning to find that your body parts have been replaced by that of a 100-year-old person. Overnight! A lot like those alien films of old.
She had a way with words and could be very funny even when she didn’t mean to be. Yesterday was one of those days when I needed my Mom (yes, even at my age!).
I went to the grocery store. There were three items on my list but on the way I remembered another three. Easy peasy right? I can remember three things.
Nope, not even close. I forgot ALL three. One was a piece of cake to soothe my ailing dental issues. (I think of it as a medication rather than a dessert. Yes I made another trip to pick it up! I need my meds!)
As I always do, I wondered if this was the first sign. You forget stuff. I thought it was your name or where you were but it could be what you need from the store.
Seriously how can you forget cake? That’s when I realized that it was my short-term memory failing temporarily (hopefully) and not a fatal disease. No one forgets cake.
Or how about the balance thing. One minute you are erect and the next you are on the ground looking at people’s scuffed shoes or toenail fungus. You have no idea what happened. (For the record I found that these instances are a good time to justify another mocha latte, hot fudge sundae or anything else you have been hankering for).
I don’t remember my mother falling often but then again, I never paid much attention. I knew what she was unhappy about (usually the antics of her wayward daughter). I knew the status of her asthma but I didn’t know how she felt about aging.
She gave up driving early. She always hated driving. She had a daughter she could guilt into driving her but she never abused that. She was content hitching a ride with lady friends or if she had to, the bus. She often took the bus to the mall and I picked her up after work and we went for dinner.
Dinner was always fun. Never any serious talks. She would have updates on her equally crazy friends. (She always thought they were crazier but…)
My mother was stoic (unlike her theatrical daughter). She minimized most illnesses. I am always sure I’m at death’s door. Undertaker on speed dial. EMS at the ready. I wonder if that’s how she truly felt or if she didn’t want to upset her theatrical daughter with bad news.
Until the very end when she was ill, I don’t remember her forgetting anything. Yesterday she would have had a good laugh at her daughter making two trips to the supermarket within a half hour. As long as I brought her a piece of cake, she would have been good with it.