I'm still a kid

When I think of that day 30 odd years ago. I was on my way to school. I knew my mother was dying of cancer, but I didn't realize that I wouldn't make it there before she did.

I came into my grandmother's house and all I heard were laments. My father was silent and hugged us. He let my brother and I see Mom before my uncle called his friends at work (who were the undertakers). My father was always the one who was there, when his mother and his wife died.

My grandma was a mess. My mother was her youngest child.

There are a lot of things that are a blur, but a lot of things I will never forget. I learned much later that I could spend all my time thinking about the horrible things a teenager could have to witness (the stretcher, the body bag, the death rattle), or I could choose to remember the things my mother left me.

Her happy disposition despite many trials. Her stubbornness and relentlessness to see things right. Her wavy hair that always curled when you wanted and sometimes, when you didn't. Her enjoyment of the little things in life, like the salami sandwiches from our town's Italian section. The jello (red and green) that Santa left us at Christmastime.

My mother also left me her faith. Her faith that we are all actors in our own story and a little divine intervention never hurts. Sometimes we need to help and be helped. Those traditions of perseverance were more helpful than I ever knew later in life.

So while my mom is no longer here to be celebrated, I look every day for the places where she left her mark on my life. And I see her every day. I put a photo of happy times on my refrigerator, so I remember that. She and Dad took us to get family photos. It was the last group family photo we would get.

So I can mourn this day, or I can live it as Mom would want me to do. My mother always wanted me to be a nurse, so I know somewhere in Heaven she smiles. Even with my detours and stubbornness, she got her wish.