And So, It Arrives: The Eve of the End-A 15 Year Reflection from a Motherless Daughter

A decade and a half ago this week, I learned what it meant to lose the person who gave you life, my Mother. Between October 25 and November 3, my mother made her final transition into receiving her wings. The time between October 31 and November 3 was a painful one because it was very evident that she had limited time. She missed so much, including some of the following: 

My Dad's Parkinson's diagnosis and progression from the disease. 

Our 40th birthdays, Matt's 50th and 60th! My Dad's 65 and 70th.  

Three high school graduations of her grandchildren. 

Three college graduations of two of her grandchildren and seeing the photos of her grandson in London. 

Two graduations of her daughter. And two post-graduate certificates, too. 

A marriage proposal. 

A wedding of the century, one that she would absolutely approve of. 

Her son and daughter-in-laws 25th anniversary. 

My frozen shoulder. 

My breast tumor. 

Panic attacks. 

When I became a professor. 

Meeting the countless students, I would love for her to meet in person. Each one of them would certainly have received a special gift from her, personally. 

A pandemic. 

When America Lost Its Mind 

and so much more. 

My mom's life as much as it was short and full of many adversities, but she spread so much joy. Her presence on this planet is lived through her children, who are hard-working adults, who take care of others and often spread joy. She taught me as well as my dad, what it really means to be an empathetic and compassionate person. I think I use those skills every day I have been an educator. 

Although I struggle to smile this week, as well as the following weeks that lead up to my father's death in November as well, I am reminded of how her adversities gave me strength during the pandemic. It helped me support my father for the last 11 years of his life when both his mind and body were unkind to him. They helped me to see that humanity is most folks, even those who cause me the most pain. Mom, I miss you, but I know we will meet again. 

Until then, I am reminded of how this song is from CeCe, is something you would have said to me, 100 times over, even though this song was released five years after your death.