Twenty-six Years

That’s how long it’s been since my mom died. Hard to fathom. I remember as a kid thinking how impossible it would be to live without her, and telling God that I think I could do it if she lived at least till I was 40 (she’d be 90 then). Well, she didn’t make it that long. 

Given what we’ve learned about “type three diabetes” (i.e., Alzheimer's) in the years since, I get so upset just thinking about how her mind was starved there at the end and no amount of sugar was going to solve the problem. 

Crippled by polio when she was three, she knew a ton of suffering in her life. Yet she always remained cheerful and was our family’s rock. Before her mind started to go, she was an inveterate tease—as all the inlaws will attest. And there’s no question she’s the one from whom I get my reclusiveness (let’s be honest: introvert is too mild to describe the aversion to going out). Miss you, Mom! I think so often about what it might be like to welcome you and daddy to our home. Can’t wait to see you again!