On October 9, 2001, the door closed on my mother's life. It wasn't sudden. It felt long and painfully not unexpected. It felt like we had been living with that initial cancer diagnosis in some way, shape, or form since the moment it happened. That, however, does not mean that the loss was any less than it was. Awful. Heartbreaking. The saddest moment in my then 22-year-old life. My beautiful, gracious, pervasively-late to everything mom. She wasn't my best friend, although if she had lived longer I'd like to think we would have reached BFF status and she could regale me with her own motherhood stories. She was my mom. She was an omnipresence. She would send a subscription of mail order vitamins and handfuls of one-a-day calendar sheets---even when I lived on the east coast. If she was within 80 miles of Carleton while I was there, she'd swing by for lunch, no question. She would call to talk to you and after hanging up would call you right back because she forgot to tell you one last thing. She would miss watching you cheer lead because she thought she could fit in one more visit with a friend. But she was always there, or at least found a way for you to remember she was there. Until she wasn't.
But then on October 9, 2010, she let me know how THERE she still is in such a huge way. On that day, the door and my heart opened onto J1's bright shining future. I became a mom exactly 9 years after losing mine. It doesn't get more poetic than that.
The most important girls in my life are tied together by this one day. It's one day. And it changed my life forever---twice.
No comments:
Post a Comment