Sunday, February 12, 2012


I miss you.  I know today isn't a special day.  It isn't your birthday, nor is it the anniversary of your death. But I couldn't help thinking about how badly I'd like to just talk to you and how sad I am that I can't.  I thought about you during my run today, how much you loved to run, how that turned into a passion for walking on the beach, but only with a big straw hat and before 10am once you had a few melanoma's removed.

I remember this shirt my dad has on.  I bet he still has it.

I would want to hear you tell me what your life is like if you were still alive.  I would want to see you enjoying retirement, just like your sister seems to be.  I would want to hear about how wonderful it is to be a grandmother, about the bond you feel for the 3 girls Leila has brought into this world.  I would want to know what life is like for you after the immediate responsibilities of parenting wrapped up, but you never got a chance to live that stage of your life.  I would want to know what it's like to live with my father, your husband, and all of his quirks.  I would want you to tell me how to keep a marriage together, how to listen, and how to talk, where compromise is important and how to stand your ground without disrespecting your partner.  I would want to hear about your latest challenges, what is on your mind, and what motivates you.  You always had such clear cut opinions about things.  You were the glue that held our family together, the rock that supported all of us, the organizer and the enforcer.  I miss being able to talk to you about how you did all of that, why it was important to you, and what ways I could be more like you.  I feel myself drifting without you.

Pretty sure that is me on the right. 

I wonder what you would think of my passion for running and for yoga.  You were always moderate with your pursuits.  I blame your choice of husband for the extremes and obsessions that leaked over into my dna.  But the organization and the compulsions, that came from you.  I wonder what you would think of the house I've put so much time into, of my failures and of my accomplishments.  I know you would have advice for me, you were never one to be silent when it came to that.  It's just been so long without you that I no longer know for sure what that advice would be.  And maybe, just maybe, I might actually start to listen to it now.

I love the fro my mom is sporting.

I am approaching 40, and I'm about the age you were when I first became aware of the particulars of your personality, how different you were than other moms, and the things that were important to you.  I remember you forcing wheat bread on us, how we couldn't have sugared cereal or soda, and how you constantly tried to shed those elusive last 5 lbs and how I never understood why that mattered until I got old too.  Ironically, 2012 has me eating healthier than ever before.  Would you approve, or would you think I'm taking it too far?  Would we connect even more now than we did when I was younger?

This looks like the PCT trail on Mt. Laguna just past Dale's Kitchen.

I think about religion a fair bit.  I struggle with how strong your belief was in God and how short your life ended up being, how much you felt you left unfinished and unexperienced.  I've had a hard time resolving that inner conflict since you left this world, and I haven't really figured out what my views are on religion without you around to tell me what to believe in :)

This is where my definition of family started.

Today, for whatever reason, I just wish I could pick up my phone and talk to you.  You've been gone for almost half my life now and I still feel like I'm trying to catch up to where you were when you left.

Happy Valentine's day, mom.  I love you.


  1. I hear you, brother.
    She'd be dang proud of you though. You are strong on all fronts; physically, morally, intellectually, and as a friend. I'm already looking forward to the next time we cross paths. I feel proud that you are my friend.

  2. I imagine this was pretty hard to write, and harder to share with everyone, even strangers like me, but I'm sure glad you chose to.