Today is not unlike any other day without my Mom but it does feel like a significant milestone... twenty years. Twenty years since I said goodbye to her. As I sat out on the dock Sunday morning, a wave of sadness came over me. I realized she will never get to see the fruits of our labor with this house or the young men that would have called her Grammy. And boy were they were here in full force this weekend. Playing football, fishing, wrestling with each other and posturing in front of their girlfriends at the dinner table. Mom would have loved it. She would have matched Daniel wit for wit and would have soaked in the sweet, sensitive nature of Jacob. I often tell them stories about her but, just like pictures of the Grand Canyon can never convey the magnificence of seeing it in person, my stories always seem to fall short of relaying all the wonderful parts of who she actually was.
It's funny to think about the memories of her that float to the surface. Having a baking sheet piled with cheesy nachos for me and my friends when we got home from school. The brightly-patterned animals with their little embroidered eyes and nose that she sewed for all of my adult friends that had babies. The meticulous way she would arrange my fast food for me if we were on a road trip and I was driving. How she would cock her head sideways in the mirror if she liked the way something looked as we were trying on clothes. And the way we would speak in movie lines and song lyrics in place of regular conversation. All of the seemingly random memories of my Mom that pop into my head often make me wonder what my own children will remember about me. I can only hope to have left a legacy for them that is half as quirky and wonderful and loving as the one she left behind.
It's hard to fathom all that has happened in my life over the past two decades and that she has missed out on it all. My convoluted journey into motherhood without my own Mom to guide me was not for the faint of heart but left me with an appreciation of the sacrifices she made on our behalf. The number of different houses I've lived in through the years and all the decorating she would have helped me do. I think maybe that's what I love most about the house I'm in now-- how much of her I see throughout. I catch myself thinking about her as I spot a ray of sunlight landing on the armchair in my bedroom. It's those little things that somehow make me feel like she's there.
More than anything, though, I know she would love getting up, grabbing a warm cup of coffee and sitting on the dock watching the geese and the pelicans dance on the water. I think I'll pour my own cup of coffee and go out there and join her. We've got some catching up to do.
