Today makes one year since we laid my mother to rest. And to be honest with you I am not well. Some days I am able to hide or hold the pain easier than others, but other days I am crushed under the weight of her absence. From the moment I received the call letting me know that my old lady, my first supporter was no longer with me in the physical I have struggled with processing this information so much so that I often times forget and think man I need to text or call her.
In the year she has been gone so much has occurred and with each passing milestone it hits me that this is the first of something I have done without her. And while her health in the last few years did not allow her to travel to me as much as she would like, she always asked, no demanded full breakdowns and if possible photographic proof of the things going on. Julian just finished the third grade and did so well, I can clearly hear her saying "why are you acting surprised? I told you he was a genius." And she did. Literally he was possibly 2 hours old, the old lady held him, looked at him and with tears in her eyes proclaimed him a genius immediately. Not sure how she knew but she did.
There have been vacations, new recipes tried, birthdays, anniversaries and with each one, no matter the joy in my heart it always has a twinge of hurt. An unexpected aftertaste of melancholy no matter what. And while I can with 100 percent certainty tell you that she would not want me paralyzed by pain and mired in despair, she will have to forgive because some days I just can't help it.
She was a part of me. And as I have always said that if you like me it's because of her because she made me into the man I am today. Granted I am a sad one, I am still here. I have come to a realization over the course of this year. The hurt is not going away, and in a way that is beautiful. It's a reminder of the love I shared with that stubborn little woman. A woman who some days I am mad at because honestly, how dare she leave me? A woman who I listen to her voicemails to hear the sound of her voice. A woman who I keep a photo of on my desk.
The same relationship we had then, we have now, albeit the terms of communication have changed. I talk to her in the car, I see the signs that she still checks in on me from the random TV commercials to the cardinal that usually makes an appearance on my early morning walk. She's there. I can feel it. And I know I will always feel it. Because no mother loved her son quite like my mom loved me. She let me be the weird, know it all, stubborn boy who turned into the weird, stubborn, know it all man you see before you.
I guess the point of all of this, is the point it's been whenever I talk about the old lady. I love her. And frankly I am not going to let a minor inconvenience such as her death stop me from loving her and hyping her up. She was worthy of it. She is worthy of it. And guess what? She will always remain worthy of it.
So as I always say, if you have that relationship with your mom, do your boy a solid. Give her a hug. Call and say I love you. Because if you don't I have a connection that will haunt you.
