|Mom and I at Jack Block Park in West Seattle, July 2013|
One month ago today I said goodbye to my mom for the last time, I held her hand and cried as she left us. It's been a month and I still don't think it's fully hit me that she's gone. I can't count the numbers of times I've thought "oh, I should tell Mom about this" or "I should ask Mom about that" only to stop and remind myself that I can't, because she's not on the other end of the phone anymore.
I keep looking at the clock, getting closer and closer to the hour that she left us, and know that I can't and should not be thinking about this. I can't let myself think about all the what ifs, the what should have beens, because I know that she would not have wanted that. That day, she teasingly told us to behave ourselves. I think part of that was intended to tell us to continue living our lives to the fullest extent, even if it had be without her.
Mom was scared, she had to have been, but she wasn't someone to delay the inevitable. That day was a waiting game, waiting for me to get back from Seattle, waiting for the notary to sign the will, waiting for the meds to take away the pain... and yet, she still laughed and smiled and made jokes, asked us to "get this show on the road." She was my mom, up until her very last words, and I'll miss her. But as hard as it seems some days, she would want me to pick myself up and continue reaching for my goals. And so I will, for her and for me.
I love you, Mom.