9 years

I've been debating all day whether or not to post. I had a post written for today, but it's sitting on my desktop. While I like what I wrote, I don't think I'll be posting it all here.

Today it is 9 years since my mom died.

My Aunt K recently told me that my dear Uncle K was speaking at a church last month and he talked to them about my mom. It startled me for some reason. I hadn't thought about anyone else talking about her to new people. But it made me feel good to know that someone else had heard her name and a story about her and now those people would remember her.

With each year that goes by I worry that I am losing my memories of her. I sat down and made a list of all the little things I remembered about her. 62 things, because she would have been 62 right now. I was surprised at how many things I could remember. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could have listed 620 things and not run out. (For now, I'm keeping this list for myself and any close friends who knew her and would like to see it.)

So I thought about it some more and realized it's not really my memories that I'm worried about losing. I'm worried about losing her influence in my life. I know that if she were alive I would probably be running in the other direction like any good 30-something daughter. I would most likely be avoiding all of her good advice, cringing at the thought of being like or sounding like her, and generally trying my best to be my own independent person.

However, I think when you lose someone whom you love, you tend to romanticize what your relationship could have been. With the knowledge I have as a result of her being gone, I believe that I would like nothing more than for us to be close, for us to have those "Mother-Daughter" moments that Hallmark understands so well, for her to give advice that I could heed or ignore.

But instead, I have only my memories. Or at least, that's what I thought until I started writing this. I realize now that I do have her influence in my life. She built more of herself into me than I knew at first. As I get older, I see it more. It's not just about having her ears or her prematurely white hair... it's about that voice in my head. It's her voice in my memory. It's her telling me, "For the love of Pete, this room looks like a cyclone hit it! Clean it up." or "Life is about choices, you can choose to sit there or you can choose to do something about it." or "If I made French toast for breakfast, would you want some?" (hands down, best French Toast ever) or "What would I do without you?"

The last is a question she frequently asked me. She always told me that I was her favourite daughter (I'm the only one), that she loved me and then she'd ask, "What would I do without you?" When I was little, I think I would just laugh at that question and throw my arms around her neck. When I got older and was helping out around the house, I would reply, "Your own floors and windows?"

Now I know that she is still here. She comes out in the things I do and say (and oh, the things I say! She's always getting me in trouble) and in the pattern of my daily life. I guess I never really have to ask of her, "What would I do without you?"