Sixty two years and sixty five days, that is what my Mom had. I passed that measure of time this last week. I had planned to be at the ocean, I had planned to be at the place she loved, sitting by the sea at the Cape that always brought her home and honoring her there in some small way.
I just couldn't travel this week and most of the last few days were dark and dismal or maybe they just seemed that way.
I wonder what she would think of this strange time in our world, in our country. The pandemic would not of been an easy time for her, full of worry, as much it is mine. The politics would have us being deep in conversations every day, her passion for politics equally mine, because I learned to care about it at her knee.
Each day I try to live up to what I promised on the anniversary of her birth this past September, to take each day she never had and try to live it to the fullest. Some days I just feel I've failed. Yet I remember.
I remember that I try to be the kind of friend my Mom was, to each person that I call friend.
I remember that I love and cherish my family the way she did hers.
I remember that I try and never stop learning, and I love and treasure books, just as she did.
I remember to try and live in the moment, in maybe a way she never did and never could.
I pray that in all these ways that I honor her, and remember her and cherish her, just as she always cherished me.
Sixty two years, sixty five days and counting.....
