Remembering Mom

Today is my mother’s 82nd birthday, or would have been had she not died in her early forties. Now, at the age of 46, I have already lived three years longer than she did. I think of her every day even though more than seventy five percent of my life has been without her.

One of the things I realized this year is that I can recall very few of the conversations we had. But what I can remember is the way being with her made me feel. I never doubted her love for me. I never doubted her belief in me. I remember her actions; how she would always take into account the feelings of others. I remember her laughter and creativity, her resourcefulness and her patience.

And it makes me wonder, what will my children remember of these years we are sharing now? I know the moments of their childhoods that are high on my remember-when list but I couldn’t even venture a guess about which times are going to stick out for them.

I only hope that whatever they remember they too will feel that their mother always loved them and always believed in them because it is absolutely true.