I think subconsciously I’ve been waiting on the clock to roll over to midnight. Then it won’t be August 15 anymore. But then…it won’t be August15 anymore. Today marked the 11th anniversary of Mom’s passing and as the clock marks the end of this day, it also reminds me that another entire year full of griefs and challenges, joys and accomplishments has slipped past since I last paused to remember her anniversary.
I think of Mom every day, many times a day, and she still worms her way into conversations with those in my life who knew her and loved her. But August 15 is separate. A dividing line: life with Mom/ life without Mom. I wouldn’t wish for her to come back. Not now that she is safe and healthy and whole. But there are days I’d love to hear her laugh or sing or to hear her tell one of the stories that could make me laugh until tears rolled down my face. And so many times I would welcome a chance to glean a word of wisdom from her, especially when I have some sort of medical crisis and desperately need her advice. I miss Mom's wit, her charm, and all the love she poured out not just on me, but on so many people in our lives. Despite years of poor health and a life filled with monstrously abusive relatives, Mom was so vibrant, such a bright star and it was devastating to watch that light get snuffed out.
So, no matter how many years pass, August 15 will always be the day Death stole my sweet Mom from us. Until one day, there will be no more August or January or June. And once again, I’ll get to hear her sing the hymns she so loved, this time for all eternity. Until then, I’ll keep trying my best to honor her memory by living out the lessons of love and faith and joy that her life taught me.
