The days after Mom died were busy. Crazy busy. Arrangements had to be made. People had to be called. We tried to keep track of when people were coming, where they were staying. It was mind boggling.
But about 100 times a day, I felt the shock of it again. Mom was gone.
I couldn't speak to her. Ask her about a recipe. Tell her the latest triumph or frustration of my kids. I couldn't listen to her concern that I was too busy, doing too much. I couldn't hear the second third and fourth hand news about family and friends. I could not watch her cuddle with my kids. Watch her
attentively listening to whatever they were willing to talk to her about.
She was really gone.
The day after she died, I started working on a slide show for the memorial service. I looked at hundreds of pictures of my Mom throughout the years. I felt a physical pain in my chest that forever this was how I would have to see my Mom.
But after two days of watching her grow up before my eyes, I found comfort. I saw her a little girl with curls, then a care-free single girl. I saw her on her wedding day then as a mother to growing children. I saw her on family vacations, with my brothers and I on our wedding days and then with her grandchildren.
Then I began to appreciate what I had and not what I had lost. Mom was not only there for my growing up, plenty of family vacations, she was at my wedding, and knew and loved my children.