A Tribute to my Mother

Today is my mother’s birthday, only she is no longer with me to celebrate it. I don’t talk about her often, but I think about her daily because I miss her. Daily. I especially miss her now that I, too, am a mother.

I don’t “talk to her” like some people do with those they have lost. It never occurred to me to do so; but once in a while when I’m sleeping, she’s there with me in my dreams – in the everyday normalcy of the dream. I’m safe, whole, content. Then I wake up.

And she is no longer with me.

She would have been 73 years old, that's hard to conceive especially since it has already been 14 years since I lost her to cancer. Far too soon.

73 years old.

When I cleaned out her closet after she passed away, she had 73 different pairs of polyester pants - in all the colors of the rainbow! I counted them. I had to. I found it funny – in that only-my-mother way. She hadn’t worn anything but polyester pants since I could remember…hadn’t worn jeans since she was a teen ager.

My mom was crafty and artistic, she painted, created chalk drawings, sewed, crocheted, knitted and more. She made all of my Halloween costumes over the years, she made my coolest Barbie clothes, and all my baby doll clothes. She would even sew clothes that I designed for me to wear as well as my theater costumes. She nurtured my acting and dancing and encouraged my creative juices. My mom was a great baker of cookies, and candy, and fudge, of bread and cakes. She loved Mexican food and made the BEST Spanish Rice and Enchiladas. She was accepting of all people, unconditionally and forgiving to a fault. In my eyes, she was tall and strong and her word was law while I was growing up.

She was married to a man that asked her to marry him the night he met her. They dated for a short time and then married. He loved her, she was beautiful and perfect in his eyes. My grandparents loved him immediately. He was my dad.

His is another story for another time.

I could call my mother for anything at any time. I miss that. Still.

I think about my mother, daily. I wish she could meet the Guy I Dig & Big Brother, she would have loved them!
I wish she could hold Harrison in her arms and listen to his little voice as he learned to talk. Strangely, a couple years before she passed away, she told me one day that she didn’t think she would live to see my children. I didn’t know at the time how prophetic that statement was. I only got upset with her.

I wish Harrison could have had the relationship with my mom and me that I had with my mom and granny.

But sometimes wishes can’t come true.

I am comforted by the thought that she is looking down on us. Watching over us.

Proud of her daughter, her son-in-law and her grandsons.

My mother would have been 73-years-old.

Happy Birthday Mom.