One of the (very, very many) things that suck about losing your mom before forty is that I remember almost nothing about my own daily life prior to high school. And because my parents were divorced and I only got to see dad for a few weeks in the summer every year, there’s nobody I can ask. I have two sons and am constantly writing (and printing) notes and reminders for them, like, “You loved to eat oatmeal with blueberries and pineapple every morning for breakfast in my forty-two year-old Empire Strikes Back cereal bowl until you were six and decided that you hate oatmeal.” Or, “If you want to make pancakes the right way you have to use the frying pan with the blue enamel.” I would probably collapse in a puddle if I ever found even a single note like this from mom. She was a writer and left hundreds of notebooks and thousands of loose pages of things. She wrote me cards and letters nearly daily from the day I left for college until shortly before she died, but sadly I’ve never found anything along those lines.
I like this photo of my mom because I have to believe she liked it. It shows her as an adult and in probably the best shape of her life. Her only complaint, I bet, would be that my sister and I are not in it, and so it is not a true representation of
This is our second Christmas without mom. Last year I wrote a little bit about our Christmas Eve traditions, but I don’t have it in me this year. Christmas will be exactly 500 days since she died, which is simultaneously meaningless and important. I miss her so much.