My mom’s been nudging me from all over the universe this week. I miss her so much. Especially, well, especially all the time. But this time of year really gets me, as Mother’s Day approaches.
I know I write about her often; she was such a precious, important person in my life. In “My Mother’s Last Days” from herviewfromhome.com, Amber Shoemaker says about her mother, “I hope she knows she was one of the great loves of my life.” Yes, I thought, this is exactly how I feel about my mom.
I think about my mom daily, intentionally, but every once in a while tiny, specific glimpses of memory come to me. I can see her, at our house in Denver, switching purses for a night out with my dad, as she moves her lipstick and wallet from her everyday brown leather shoulder bag to a shimmery clutch. I remember what a beautiful swimmer she was, gracefully gliding through the water in the big pool at Skyline Acres, which she didn’t do very often, because she hated to ruin her hair. I blink and there she sits at the head of the table with the afternoon sunlight drifting over her as she files her beautiful, long nails. …