Tuesday, February 13, 2024
There are so many memories I have of my mom that it will be hard to limit them to just a few.
Like how she believed being 30 minutes early was considered on time.
Or how she would sing along to her favorite songs even though she didn’t know the words.
Or coming home to see her sitting on the floor sorting Legos with my son. “No Nan, the piece we’re looking for has a side edge like this!”
For much of my young life, I believed the Easter bunny lived in Queens near my grandmother’s house. We were driving to her house for Easter dinner one year and I kept repeatedly asking my mother where the Easter bunny lived. I was relentless. Santa lived at the North Pole, so just where did the Easter bunny live? My mother finally pointed to some woods along the side of the road and said, “There. The Easter bunny lives there.” It satisfied my curiosity at the time but today, after all these years, I still can’t drive past the Cross Island Parkway without looking for that darn bunny.
And that’s how it is with memories. They trigger and get triggered. They pop up unexpectedly and sometimes when you’re least prepared for them. They can cause a prick in your eyes and tears to fall or a warm feeling in your heart and provoke a hearty laugh.
There isn’t anything in this life that doesn’t remind me of my mom. I see her everywhere. I feel her everywhere. She is a part of me. And in the days, weeks, and years to come, I look forward to recalling many, many memories of our life together.
Love you mom,
Margaret Mary
