Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day. May 8th, 2016.

Another date that I added to the list of “firsts” I’m compiling. The list of firsts after the passing of my mom. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. My 28th birthday. Chels’ 30th birthday. Mother’s Day.

The question I kept asking myself was, “How do I celebrate Mother’s Day without my mom?”

Mostly, I avoided talking about it all day because I’m a shining example of emotional health. Chelsea would try to bring it up and I would play it off as if everything was fine.

The question lingered though – “How do I celebrate Mother’s Day without my mom?” 

My best attempt at an answer: differently than I used to.

I miss my mom. I miss my mom beyond words. The grieving of the soul transcends language.

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I had a dream about her the other night. She had surprised me at a party. We laughed, hugged and then started two-stepping together. My mom was the first person to teach me how to two-step and I never missed an opportunity to dance with her. It was fitting.

She just kept smiling the whole time and I could distinctly hear her gravely, West-Texas laugh. As we were dancing though I was suddenly jolted awake. I’m not 100% sure why. I started to panic because I didn’t want the dream to be over. In vain I attempted getting back to sleep to see her face again, but to no avail. I spent the next 5 minutes crying not knowing the next time I would see her that vividly.

Again though – How do I celebrate Mother’s Day without my mom?

Differently than I used to.

I used to always do two things for my mom. First, I would find a Mother’s Day card from the humor section of the card isle. In it I would try to write something witty because my mom possessed a silver tongue and was the most quick witted woman I have ever met. It was her love language.

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Yet, if you knew my mom, you also knew that she was a total softy. Therefore, second, I would always write a more heartfelt note and put it inside the card itself. It too usually had traces of humor, but mostly I shared my gratitude for having the best mom a son could hope for.

So what did I do this year?

I cried. I prayed. I thanked God for the incredible 27 years he gave me with my mom. Then, I thanked Him for all the “second mom’s” who helped raise me. Since I took after my mom so much personality wise, God knew it would take a village to raise my stubborn self. He absolutely provided. I never lacked other moms who cared for me, fed me, or put me in my place when I needed it, which rarely ever happened because I’m an angel…*slowly walks away without eye contact*

Lastly, I turned to my attention to Chelsea Senee, my beautiful wife and the mother of my child. The woman who looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. The one I rise up and call blessed. The one who I praise saying: “Many woman have done excellently, but you surpass them all.”

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So how did I handle this “first”?

I reflected with tears and thankfulness. I celebrated the present with gratitude. Lastly, I looked forward with expectancy to the day where I see my mom again and get to finish that two-step.

 

 

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