I miss her still...

This post is inspired in part by JuddHole post and in part because the 13th of December was the anniversary of my mother's death. Bear with me if I get weepy.

On December 13th, 1987, I lost my mom after a three month-long and very painfull battle with cancer. I tell this story not because I want to remember the pain, but because I want to remember her.

I remember the little things, like coming home from my first day of school in 8th grade and her being there at the house with Grape Kool-Ade and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. I remember going skiing with her in Colorado. I remember the snake in the house that dad killed while a butcher knife while mom held it down with a garden hoe. I also remember holding her hand, cold and still, while doctors told me that the last thing a person looses when they die is their hearing, so I should tell her I love her. I remember her not moving after I told her. I remember feeling absoluetly nothing when my dad told me later that same day that mom had passed away. I remember lying in bed at my uncle's house, where I was staying at the time, wanting to cry, but couldn't, I was so in shock. And I remember being at the funeral, when Betty Martin bent down to hug me, I just let loose with emotion, finally able to spill tears, and now it's been 17 years to the day and I'm still crying over her.

On Tuesday, Brigette's little girl was sick, so I stayed with her since everybody else had to work. We played, colored Powerpuff Girls, and had lunch. Afterwards, she wanted to hear stories of me and my childhood (she loves to hear stories), especially the one of my mother passing, so I told her the one story I know better than any of the rest. It's a story I think of every year about this time. Christmas will forever be linked to my mother's death. Not being macabre, that's just the way it is. Just like Thanksgiving will always be seen as the holiday that my Grandmother passed away right before. I loved both of those women as much as a child or grandchild can love his family.

I won't go into it here. If you know me, and chances are if you're reading this blog, you've talked to me a few times in your life, then you know the hurt and pain I went through, what my father went through, what my whole family went through. I will go on to say that I'm glad that i got to see her, that I got to tell her I loved her, that I got to hold her hand one last time. One last time before she slipped away from me forever. God found a reason to call her home, and even though I don't know what that reason was, I'm sure it was a good one. They say only the good die young, and at 37, she wasn't to old, so she must have been a pretty good soul.

I had a real good talk with my step mom this morning. Not about this, mind you. Of other things. I needed a mom after mine was taken from me, and I was extreamly lucky to get one that was so awesome. I can honestly say I've got two mothers. If you hear me talk about one of them, and you're confused, just ask. I'll tell you which is which, although both were/are very good with me, and have never been seen with a bad eye from me.

So to Shirley Ann, I wish you happiness up in Heaven, and I hope to see you one day. And to Nancy Jane I wish you joy here on Earth, and I hope to see you up there too. But not anytime soon. You've still got some grandmothering to do... :-)

I would like to remind my readers to tell your family and friends that you love them. Feeling awkward about telling a 210 pound man you love him isn't nearly as bad as seeing that same man in a casket, knowing you could have told him and didn't. I tell my dad that I love him every time I see him, mom too. Also my sisters, my nieces, Brigette and her babies, even Brigette's parents do it to me, it's great... I might even start doing it with my other friends. You are all precious to me, and I love each and every one of you.

This post has enough sugar to give ten people diabetes...