It has been six months since my mom died. 184 days. I still think about her everyday. I still miss her daily phone calls. This morning, DJ and I went to 9:30 mass with my dad. It was a regular Sunday Mass, but the prayer intention was for my mom. Deacon John, a friend of our family announced her name and after mass, as he processed down the aisle of Our Lady of Sorrows, he warmly put his hand on my dad’s shoulder. A very small gesture, but a very meaningful one.
Mom, the biggest lover of holidays has missed so many of them already. St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, 4th of July, numerous birthdays – including my own, and hers. She missed her beloved Duck Race. So many important dates that have come and gone without her here. We have so many memories of those days with her so many important moments in our lives. At mass this morning the refrain to one of the songs we sang was, “Long have I waited for your coming home to me me and living deeply our new life.”
It made me think of our new lives. Our lives without her. Yesterday, after attending the funeral of a friend’s father, a friend came up to me to ask me how I was doing. She told me that her mom has been gone for over 18 years, and not a day goes by without her thinking about her. Whether it is something big , or a small trigger, she is always in her thoughts. This made me smile and tear up at the same time. I want to remember her and all of the good times that our family had because of her. I want these memories to be of healthier times and not during her last few years when every step and every breath was a struggle.
Six months later, I am actually writing this without crying. A bit teary yes, but also a relieved knowing that she is not struggling anymore and that she is with us all of the time now. In our hearts and in our memories. In the little things and actions my kids do that were traits of my mom’s. Each day gets a little bit easier and hearing stories about her from friends and families, where we can laugh and reminisce are so welcome.