1993…my mom died in 1993. It’s odd how I think of things like someone who was born the same day she died is now turning sixteen. That person has lived a small fraction of their life and my mom already lived hers.


I was going to rehash the day she died and all of that in this blog today. But on second thought, I don’t want to remember my mother in that way.


I want to remember the strong, goofy woman who taught me many things.


Say for instance, if I played with my belly button I would unravel and die.


If I swallowed the black seeds of a watermelon, one would grow in my stomach.


I want to remember the lady who sang “Grease Lighting” with me in the living room and did the dance moves, too.


I want to remember the woman who scared the hell out of all the kids in the neighborhood because she was a big woman with a deep voice. No one messed with my momma.


I need to remember the woman who would sit in my grandmother’s wheelchair in the dusk of the day and read biographies (which may be the reason why I can’t read them today).


For me, my mother was the one who would blow bubbles with me as I danced on the front lawn in the twilight of a summer night.


I can’t loose the memory of the woman who never denied me anything that I wanted. She was once even willing to give her actual blood to get me a cabbage patch doll.


My mother had flaws. I will be the first to see them and point them out. But on the anniversary of her death, seeing her in that way just doesn’t seem right.


Is my mother proud of me? Does she still love me if she could? Am I still her best friend?


I will never get these questions answered, but maybe I don’t really need them to be answered. For the short time my mother was in my life, I can truly say that I know that she did love me. I was her little monkey and as I got older, I became her Mickey (if anyone tries to call me that name today, I will hit you in the mouth…just an FYI). The proof of her love was everywhere I looked. Also, I know that in her way, she was proud of me. She might not have been able to say the words exactly as I needed to hear them, but her actions spoke that those words were there.


I am lucky. My mother is safe now. No one can ever hurt her. She gets a front row seat to my life and she doesn’t have to feel the pain of my suffering. In my mind, she knows how my life will pan out and that will comfort her. She made me a strong woman. Could I ask for anything more?


So, even though today is a sad day, I still find time to smile. Maybe I’ll even blow some bubbles or read the millions of biographies that sit on my shelf.


Mom, wherever your soul is, know that your little girl is okay and that she still loves and believes in you.