Have fun

    Can you recall your first memory?  I can.  It's an up close visual of my moms' ear. When I close my eyes, I can see it vividly.  I must be lying on her shoulder.  I still know what it felt like to play with her earring.  I can still smell the hairspray.  When I close my eyes, I can hear her singing.  She had a voluminous alto voice.  I can still hear her playing the piano.  Her style was definable, with the runs and pretty extra notes played between the melody of the song and especially on the ending.  I can hear her silly baby voice talking to something tiny and cute like an animal or baby.  I can hear the tone of her voice when she was frustrated followed by the inevitable mom sigh.  When I close my eyes, I can see her fingers. Very nimble, flowing over the keys of the piano or painting or drawing (she was extraordinary at them all), or sewing.  I can see her shirt covered in flour or grease from slaving in the kitchen over a special holiday meal or birthday cake...or covered in paint from the many wooden projects she created.  When I close my eyes, I can feel her hugging me so tight when she hadn't seen me in too long of a time.  I can feel her straightening my hair (as she did for the first 18 years of my life).  I can feel her fingernails pinch me from behind, every time I bent over anywhere in her vicinity!!  When I close my eyes, I hear her laugh most of all.  That sound should have been recorded.  It was the fullest, most boisterous, whole body, tear producing laughter ever.  That sound was my favorite.
     September 1, 2014 is a day I don't need to close my eyes to remember, though some details are a bit hazy.  My family and I had spent many days already at the Rehabilitation Center my mom was in.  That morning I was taking my time getting ready to go see her, because I felt the urge to relax and spend some extra minutes with my kids since I had been missing for so many days already.  They knew what was going on and that mommy had been very sad lately.  The feeling of being a mom and also watching your own mom decline physically is inexpressible.  I suddenly felt the impulse to convey every mommy trait I had learned from her on to them.  I recall getting a phone call that morning from someone saying that moms breathing was getting shallow and her heartbeat was slowing.  I needed to hurry.
     My husband drove the 40 miles on back roads.  Driving like he was Batman and breaking a few traffic laws along the way, as I sat low in my seat with tears streaming down my face.  All the same prayers and thoughts that had flooded my brain the last few weeks started spilling out.  "This can't be it.  Why?  I still need her! This isn't fair.  Why??  God please change this."  I walked quickly into the building and into her room.  It was too quiet.  Mom had been lethargic for many days.  She hadn't spoken to me or even recognized who I was in a week or more.  Walking to her side and sitting next to her, I distinctly remember her turning her head to me and quietly murmuring the words, "I love you."  As the tears fell I said in somewhat shock, " I love you too mom, so much." I felt like she had waited on me to get there.  Then I kissed her and said, "Have Fun."
      I said have fun.  I said HAVE FUN!  Why did I say have fun??  I've questioned this for the last 4 years.  What on earth possessed my brain to make my mouth spit out "Have fun" at such a time as this?  Possibly because that's what she said to me when I was younger, leaving the house to go out or talking on the phone about something the kids and I would be doing that day.  She always said, "Be careful and have fun!"  It was a customary send off for her, which has translated throughout my life to mean there is joy to be had everywhere and in every situation.  The other reason I said "Have fun" could perhaps be that since childhood I was informed of how wonderful heaven would be.  How incredible it was and I just knew she was going to have a good time!  Whatever the reason, I will never know until I get there myself, I just hope it made sense to her.
     4 years have passed too quickly and I still have so many questions as to why she had to go.  What could have been done differently?  I still have questions for her!  How do I get this tricky stain out?  What was I like as a baby, from a mothers perspective?  That's probably one of the hardest parts of grieving.  Not what you remember when you close your eyes, but what will never be.
     The happy part of this story is realizing, not too many days after she passed, that I could still see and hear her.  When my youngest touches my earrings.  When I look at an old decoration she painted or cross stitched.  When I see the mess on my shirt from cooking.  When I talk to a tiny and cute thing, I hear her silly voice come out of me. When I sing a low note.  When I am talking to my kids and a phrase she would use stumbles out.  I smile because I hear her when I say it.  Especially now when I tell them to have fun.  And when I laugh....  It's the most remarkable gift that only God could have given me.  To be able to laugh and hear my mother again.  Many times my little giggles or sighs make me stop in surprise from the awe of hearing her voice, and I secretly wonder if my family recognizes it too.
      Every year on this day I find the need to express my emotions in a different way.  In some effort to ease the pain.  Mothers Day, her birthday and holidays all roll around and don't seem to haunt me like this day.  I can celebrate her life and appreciate her as a mom, but I struggle with the day she left.  A mother is she who can take the place of all others, but whose place no one else can take.  There's no way to ever fill the void, however, I can carry her on with me.  Living out the joyful life I have been given and continuing to spread the lessons I've learned on to my kids with the hopes that one day someone might say to me, "You're turning into your mother."