Three years

Today is the three year anniversary of Mom’s passing. It was the end of her nearly four year battle with peritoneal cancer.

From her diagnosis in November 2016, right before our 20th wedding anniversary party, to the very end, Ronnie Sue remained committed to surviving. This was a picture from the party, right before she went home to start the fight.

Of course for so many like my mom, cancer just wins in the end. I am grateful to have been there in her last week. As hard as it was to watch the death process happen in real time—and it is surely a process that takes time—it was one of the last, and probably most important, gifts she gave me.

On the first anniversary of her last day, I wrote a blog post called A Day To Remember. I was feeling all the feels and wanted to pay a little tribute to her by highlighting a few of the thoughts that crossed my mind. A few months later, I had a Random Mom Dream. It’s rare that I actually remember having a dream about her, so engaging in some writing therapy was helpful.

Now, it has been three years since I saw her. Losing a parent is still so hard for my brain to comprehend. I find myself yearning to connect to the fading memories. It’s hard, because it hurts to go back. I can’t focus on it on a daily basis because I’d fall down a rabbit hole that I’d probably have a hard time escaping from. Still photos capture an instant of a smile, but they don’t encapsulate the feeling of looking in her eyes, holding her hand, or feeling the squeeze of hugging her. Pictures are a poor substitute for those things I craved and that’s what makes my heart heavy.

This is one of my favorite pictures of us from my childhood.

Lessons from my mom

What helps a little is remembering how much of her is a part of me and how much I have learned from her. While we were very different people in so many ways, genetics and love have been powerful contributors to who I am now. I grew up watching her like a hawk, absorbing they way she approached her life and the people in it:

How she embraced the ones she kept in her small circle.
How she immersed herself with the things she was passionate about.
How she loved good food.
How she wasn’t afraid to sparkle.
How she gave so much of herself, then withdrew into her bed to recover.

Another lesson of note has become very apparent when both of my kids went to college: the importance of letting go. As my girls are getting older and discovering their more independent selves, I think about how Ronnie gave me space. She was there when I needed her, and stepped back when I didn’t. She understood the necessity of letting me grow my own wings, to trust myself and to learn what I needed to, especially through adversity. From that, I learned adaptation, self-reliance and courage. Hard as that is, that is what I am trying to do for my girls; I’m still figuring that out.

Throughout my lifetime, Ronnie Sue was my model for learning to be capable, developing talent, being creative, having an open heart, and taking time to rest. I am a lucky girl to have had that from day one. She always encouraged me to become the best version of myself and celebrated my accomplishments every step of the way. She had a way of exuberantly acknowledging the things, large and small, that mattered. This is a gift that I am paying forward to my children and my students every day. It is my way of spreading the grace of Ronnie Sue into the world.