My mom was always impossible to shop for. Not because she had a lot of stuff (the woman had, like, 4 shirts and that’s about it) or because she was difficult to please (she loved everything). In fact, that’s what made it so hard. As long as it came from her kids, she was always THRILLED about it. Kind of difficult to zero-in on something when she’d be happy with anything.
This coupled with the fact that I was BROKE AS SHIT last Mother’s Day kind of left me in a bind. After a lot of deliberation, I decided to make her something. I cut 52 strips of paper, and hand wrote a little note on each one of them. Something I loved about her. A special memory we shared. An encouraging note (she was going through a rough time). I put them all into a jar and told her to pick one at random every week for the next year.
She LOVED it.
It must of drove her nuts to wait a week between each one. She was as impatient as I am. But she waited. She told me that sometimes it was the best part of her week. She’d call me after reading it and we’d talk about it and take some time to catch up. It ended up being a gift for both of us. A lot of times, I needed those phone calls just as much as she did.
Today, she would have opened up the last one. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that she never got to reach each one. It’s unbelievably hard to walk into my dad’s house and see that jar sitting on the table, notes still in it that will never be read.
I hope she knew. I hope everything I wrote down was redundant. I hope I took enough time when she was still here to tell her everything I put in that jar.
Grief is a silly thing. You can move forward. You can find the strength to go on. But you never forget. It never stops hurting. And it will hit you so quickly, so unexpectedly.
But it’s also kind of amazing. Hurting this much shows that I’m capable of loving something more than I ever thought possibly. It’s the best and the worst part of life.
Mamasita, I love you. I miss you. I hope I turn into even a faction of the incredible person you believed I was.