(The post below was written on July 4, 2020. My mom passed on April 4, 2020.)
My mom died three months ago today.
I know I say this all the time, but it still doesn’t seem possible. It doesn’t seem real.
It feels like it was yesterday, but also like it’s been a million years.
Last night I had a dream about her. I went to her house to see her, but I was in another room talking to my dad for a while and I almost left without going in to see my mom.
As soon as I realized what I had almost done, I felt terribly guilty and quickly ran into the living room to see her. I was so mad and ashamed at myself. How could I have forgotten about her like that?
When I walked into the living room, my mom was sitting on the couch, but she was quickly sliding down to the floor. She frantically called out for me to help her. I carefully scooped her tiny, frail body into my arms and repositioned her so she was lying down. I made sure she was comfortable.
And then I sat on the floor by the couch, holding her hand and nuzzling close to her, not wanting to ever leave her side.
In my dream, my mom was wearing a red shirt and red, white, and blue beads around her neck.
Upon waking up from my dream, I immediately realized today is the three month anniversary of my mom’s death and it’s also the 4th of July.
But instead of feeling the usual pain and sadness, I felt close to her. And I actually smiled. At the dream, at my mom, at the memory of this picture.
It wasn’t all bad. We had some good times, too.
Thanks, Mom, for helping me remember.