Today one year ago was the last full, healthy day of my mother’s life. Her death was the farthest thing from her mind, from my dad’s mind, from anyone’s mind. She…was a given. I never questioned her presence in my life, never questioned that she would be there when I got married and when I have my children. It never occurred to me, not for one single moment, that she might not be there for the long haul. Death is like a vacuum. An empty space that falls in on itself, because it just doesn’t know what else to do.
On this night in 2008, I called my mother just to say hello. Check in. Tell her I was making crab dip for Katelin’s Christmas party. And made a plan to have dinner that weekend, on Sunday. It was a short conversation, but I will be grateful all the days of my life that I talked to her that night. It was my last chance, and I took it. I had so many chances with her, and I took so many of them.
My father recently sent me the quilt that my mom made for me. It’s beautiful.
I am thankful that she loved me enough to spend so much of her time on something tangible for me to treasure. As I lay beneath it, I can sense her contentedness as she hand stitched the small pieces of fabric together, her pride when she tied the last knot, and the deep sense of love she must have felt when she saw me lay underneath it for the first time.
How lucky I am to be her daughter.
