Mom

Monday marked three years to the day that my mom died.  I've been thinking about her a lot lately, and missing her.  She would be so proud of J.P.'s accomplishments this year at MBA, in the classroom and as an athlete.  She would be so proud of Joe and the kind of boy he his.  Happy.  Sweet.  Kind.  Caring.  Competitive.

Monday night, after the boys were in bed, Jude and I were sitting on the couch in the den.  I was reading and she was working.  I put my iPad down at one point and told her it was the three year anniversary of my mom's death.  "Wow," she said.  "In some ways, it seems much longer than that."

Jude's right, I think.  So much has happened in the world, and in our lives, in the three years since my mom died.  

The pandemic, of course, and the scourge of Covid-19 that seems like it will never end.  The presidential election and Donald Trump's lies about the election being stolen from him.  The January 6th insurrection.  Jude's eye surgeries and, last spring and summer, her bout with - thankfully - early stage breast cancer.  J.P. changing schools and starting at MBA.  Kaitlyn on the verge of graduation from Birmingham Southern and Matthew starting college at Mississippi State. 

My mom lived a happy, full life, so I try not to dwell on what she missed because of Alzheimer's disease and dying when she did.  It's harder for me, but I also try not to dwell on what my boys missed, especially Joe, in not really getting to know her and spend time with her.  

I think, though, that so much of who the boys are - their very essence - has been passed down from my mom, to me, and on to them.  Their faith in God.  Their love of sports.  Their  competitiveness.  Their love of reading.  Their sense of humor.  Their kind hearts.  Their love for each other, for Jude and me, and for their extended family.  

I can trace a direct line from who the boys are to my mom and, of course, to Carley Meade, as well.  

I talked to an old friend of my mom's late yesterday afternoon, Charlie Roos.  She is about a decade younger than my mom but, otherwise, they are a lot alike.  We had a great conversation.  Talking to Charlie on the telephone for 15 minutes - laughing, teasing, and joking with each other - really brought back memories of my mom and, I guess, reminded me of how much I miss her.  

It's strange but my memories of my mom fall seem to fall into two distinct periods of time.  Before Alzheimer's and after Alzheimer's.  I wish sometimes - actually, all of the time - that I had known the hardships my mom would face in her future before she began to suffer the effects of Alzheimer's disease.  Would I have spent more time with her?  Would I have bought the house across the street from her when Jude and looked at it?  

I'm grateful, though, that even with Alzheimer's disease, my mom was always happy.  Whenever any of us so her, especially at NHC Place, she was smiling, laughing, and seemingly content.  She wasn't frightened or angry - not ever - and that's a blessing.  When I went to see her, I always felt a kind of contentment and peace when I was there and we sat together, or when I read to her, or when I had her read to me.  Even now, I miss that and I miss the routine of stopping by to see her and spend a few stolen moments with her. 

My mom was an extraordinary woman.  One of a kind.  I miss her, quite literally, every day.  

Here's a link to her obituary.  It's the best thing I've ever written.

https://www.tennessean.com/obituaries/ten114188