Last night my son was all curled up in my lap as he watched Little Einsteins on Disney Junior. I held him close and rocked him slowly knowing that I was blessed to be having such a moment with him. I smelled his hair, kissed his cheek, and whispered “Mommy loves you” into his ear. And just like that a memory was made.
Sometimes I lay in bed at night and think about my day and all that I’m grateful for and wonder if she did the same thing. I wonder if my mommy knew she was making memories as each precious day passed. It’s today that she’s been gone for 32 years and it’s not any easier than the last. In fact, now that I’m a mama myself, it’s that much harder.
I only have a handful of pictures of my mom and even fewer of them are of me with her. It’s as if I’m searching for memories that are never going to resurface, yet I look for them anyway.
What I wouldn’t give for one conversation with her. To have her hold me, rock me (yes, even at 37 I would love my mama to rock me), and whisper in my ear that she loves me. Just one conversation. But it will never be.
So I make memories with my son and don’t take any of them, not even one, for granted because the truth is, none of us knows how long we have on this Earth. And her time was far too short…