So I am apparently in avoidance behavior mode -- I'm physically tired of studying. I have no idea how I am supposed to comprehend (and retain) 930 pages of a book filled with every Diagnostic Test known to man (and woman, and child...) So, I've talked on the phone with Adrienne. I've taken a break to make dinner and get it in the oven. I've taken several breaks for football. And I've allowed myself to think, and to feel, and...
Mondays are a blessing and a curse -- generally speaking. I love that Mondays usher in a new week full of possibilities. I love that I get to spend Monday evenings with some really cool people -- and that I get to do what I love as part of that time together. But not all Mondays are "easy" -- some are downright monotonous, and others usher in feelings and emotions long suppressed. This Monday is no different, and yet, this year I have vowed to treat it differently. With respect, with due diligence, and without the kid gloves.
Those closest to me -- who actually read what I write from time to time (I'm sorry it's been so long) -- know that my mom died three years ago. January 25, 2007 to be exact. There isn't a single day that goes by that I don't miss her -- and yet I can say that the sting of missing her "eases" a little more each day. That isn't to say that I don't think of her, that's a daily occurence. Sometimes I say things that sound just like her (and my children are so blessed by those words) -- yes, you too will sound "just like your mother" someday. Sometimes I hear a song on the radio and I'm literally transported back to another time and another place, with her sitting in front of me at the dinner table or a conversation replaying in my mind.
Sometimes those memories are accompanied by laughter, and sometimes there are tears involved. (Newsflash: I cry almost every single day.) The tears aren't always sad -- sometimes, they follow a "belly laugh" or five. But they are mine. I own them, and I wouldn't trade them for all the shoes in the world. So tonight, while I'm taking a much needed break from studying, I'm thinking about all the lessons I learned from my momma -- she was a petite woman with a huge, infectious laugh. She rarely took things for granted, especially during the last decade of her life. She loved all things related to family -- even when family was really hard to love. So in honor of her -- and the woman I am because of her -- I'm going to give you just a taste of her wisdom. I can't possibly capture every nugget of "all things her" in these words, but it's in these tidbits that I remember -- and laugh, and cry.
1. The phrase "clean your room" isn't an invitation to rearrange the furniture -- or is it?
2. You really can't take it with you when you go -- but you can share it with those you love.
3. Don't say "I love you" just to say it -- but if you say it, say it often and mean it.
4. Eeyore was the most misunderstood of all of Pooh's friends. "It wasn't much of a tail, but I was kind of attached to it."
5. If you're lucky enough to have cute feet, wear cute shoes.
6. The people you love the most, and who love you the most -- are always just a phone call away.
7. Your mother can be your best friend, but she's still your mother.
8. The "stuff" you have in life isn't what sets you apart from the rest of the world -- it's what you do with what you have that matters most.
9. I was her favorite child. So was my brother.
10. You can do anything you want with your life -- sitting idly by and letting life happen around you isn't an option.
11. You're never too old to have a new hobby. (She was my age when she received her private pilot's license.)
12. Forgiveness doesn't always come easy -- but you owe it to yourself to try.
13. Laughter really is the best medicine.
14. Don't wait to live your life -- today is as good a time as any to start.
15. The people who love you most, no matter the distance, are there when you need them the most.
I love you momma -- someday I hope to be just a fraction of the woman you were. I was one of the lucky ones. ~sheri
“When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.” -Nancy Friday
