Eight years ago, Dad suddenly called us all home. Mom had reached the final days of her long illness. My plane landed in Florida and I went straight to the house. It was filled with family and friends and boiled shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico. I talked to her for awhile the night I arrived and loved her sharp sense of humor, even through the morphine haze. She soon went to sleep that night and I thought we would continue the conversation in the morning. For the next three days, she slept but we never talked again. I just sat on the bed with my dad, sister and brother, playing games, watching TV, and waiting. On the morning of August 16th, I watched her take her last breath, much like she watched me take my first. Jake came home from the breeders a few weeks later and everything hurt just a tiny bit less.
On vacations now, when I step onto a beach for that first moment, I feel the sand against my feet and I swear I if I turned around just then, I might see her behind me on a lounge chair, auburn hair and olive skin, peering over a book and smiling. If our Mother’s Day post wasn’t enough to make you stop and call YOUR mom, do you think you might go do it now?