One Last Time

I walked through my mom’s home for the last time today. It wasn’t the house I grew up in, but nevertheless, it was her home for the last 35 years. It was the home where we held my bridesmaid’s breakfast, celebrated birthdays and Christmas eves…my kids spent the night with grandma, being totally spoiled and fiercely loved! So many memories came from that place.

I walked through – after the painting and new carpet, getting it in ready to sell shape - it didn’t smell like my mom anymore, there were none of the familiar family photos, antiques and books, or miscellaneous piles of mail. I knew in my heart that everything was taken care of, not yet in a final home, but safe from being lost – our memories neatly boxed up and put into storage.

I had never, in my entire life, gone this long without talking to my mom – even in college when we had land lines as the only means of communication, we still talked at least every week or so. Sometimes in my head, I think…oh, I need to call mom…and then I remember, I can’t. Sometimes I want to tell her something or invite her over or plan out how we will get to some event or where we will spend Thanksgiving…and then I remember I can’t.

I can’t think too hard about it or I feel like I will get lost in sorrow and pain. I don’t like to think about how sad I really am. It’s easier to just keep pushing on, like I know my mom would have. Other than joy, happiness and love, my mom didn’t have too many other emotions…at least emotions that she let others see.

I guess I’m lucky the world is so different these days due to the pandemic…we can’t really go to college football games or get together with friends and family like we used to, so in that respect I can trick myself into thinking that things will be the same when this is all over. But things won’t be the same, no matter what else does come back into our lives, my mom won’t be coming back. I’m grateful that her memory will never leave me.