Red

I haven’t written in awhile. And to be honest, I don’t really feel like writing now. My head has somehow convinced my heart that writing will give my words an exit from the whirlwind they’ve been on lately. 

It’s been a month. 

A month without our morning talks. A month of sorting out paperwork. A month without her Facebook comments. A month wearing her wedding band. 

A month of our new normal. 

The thing is there was nothing normal about being her daughter so it’s incomprehensible figuring out how to live without her. 

I know people often say their mom is their best friend.  I would never say that.  To me, she was so much more.  I had the blessing of a mother who was the greatest human on the planet.  Today, I found something she had written down.  I assume she read it and wanted to remember it.  For me, it summed up her life perfectly.

"May you have enough happiness to make you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human and enough hope to make you happy."

I only saw her angry once in my adult life and it was last year. Dad tried to sneak blueberries in her morning smoothie and she was NOT happy about it. She stormed through that living room like there was a bee in her bonnet. Poor daddy didn’t stand a chance. 

I do recall some instances when we were young where her red hair got the best of her. They almost all revolved around her kids and sports. I remember my senior year we played in the sub-sectionals at McAvoy Park. I stole second and slid into a hard tag. My helmet flew off and by the time I came to, mama was standing over me in her heels and suit. Apparently she had bounded down the bleachers and had choice words for the shortstop who, in her opinion, used “excessive tagging”. 

She had a laugh that would fill up a room. It was a head tilted back, mouth wide open, belly laugh that made you feel her joy. I heard it most often in the presence of my brothers. They would say something inappropriate, she would laugh hysterically and then scold them and tell them they were “not right.”  I heard it just last week coming from my daughter while she was FaceTiming a friend. It makes me happy that I can hear mom’s vivacious laugh through my twelve year old. Her spirit is nestled way deep in our Lily Bean. 

I learned my greatest lessons from her.  

She taught me to not only love, but to say it often and love unconditionally.  
She taught me to not only laugh, but to laugh so hard that tears roll down my face.
She taught me to not only play, but to dance whenever I got the chance.
She taught me to not only pray, but to believe in my prayers and trust his hand in my life.

The other day I was driving down the road when one of her favorite songs came on the radio.  It immediately took my breath away.  As I sat in my car sobbing, the final verse came through loud and clear...

"Just remember in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows

Lies the seed, that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose."

I miss her. I miss her so much that my heart sometimes feels it will burst out of my chest. And just when I feel the tears well up, I hear her voice “Don’t cry sis. I’m right here.”  

And I know she is.