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(I post this same piece every year on this date. I appreciate your patience with me as I remember her again.)

My mom died on a Monday. It was chilly outside and the sun was trying to peek through a gloomy grey sky. I know because I was looking to the heavens a lot that day. Her death wasn’t expected, but neither was it a complete surprise. She went into the hospital a healthy woman with a minor case of Pancreatitis, which she suffered and recovered from previously, and two months later she was gone. There were infections, multiple surgeries, breathing problems, kidney failure, and a long list of other complications that led ultimately to a coma. In the end it reached a point where it became a family choice to discontinue the life saving measures that were keeping her alive and prolonging her suffering. When she slipped the bonds of her tortured body and moved on to her next journey, I wasn’t in the room. I couldn’t. She was 69 years young.

A few days later, just prior to her funeral, I was alone in the basement of my parents home when my Dad came to me with a question. He wanted to know if I would say something during the service. I had already been contemplating the notion, so I agreed without hesitation. My dad appeared relieved. I realized then that this rock of a man, who I had watched wither away emotionally as much as the woman he loved was doing physically, wouldn’t have been able to stand up in front of our friends and family. He knew that even as shy and withdrawn as I am, my work had provided me experience communicating in front of groups. It was important to him, and me, that somebody who knew her well speak for her at the service.

Even though my parents weren’t regular church goers, my mother was raised Methodist and the services were held at a quaint little church not too far from where they lived. The two of them had only lived in Loganville for ten years, but you wouldn’t have known it from the number of people who made it to the funeral. Family and friends overwhelmed that poor little church.

The service was performed by a priest I had only met that very day, and that my mother had never met. It was generic, as only it could be, until he asked if there was anybody who wished to offer a few words. I stood up, nervously stepped to the podium and looked out over the gathering. A rush of panic momentarily seized me, constricting my vocal cords and raising the temperature in the room to 120 F. But a calmness settled over me when I found my father’s eyes. I was ready.

Although what follows isn’t word for word what I said back then, it’s pretty close.

“When Dad asked me if I wanted to speak here today I immediately said yes, but then I spent the next couple of days thinking about what it was I wanted to say. The more I thought about it, the more this single question kept popping into my head. Before long that question was all I could think about. It tormented me day and night. When the answer finally came to me, I realized it’s actually the reason I’m standing here right now. I also realized that many of you might be asking yourself the same question. I hope I can help answer it for you.

First I want to tell you of two memories of my Mom that I keep not in my head, but in my heart. They represent who she was to me and to a lot of you as well. The first one took place when I was just 7 or 8 years old and we were living in military housing at Quantico Virginia. For some reason I was in a different school system than my two brothers, which meant I had to take a separate school bus. This really terrified me, but I never let on to anybody. One morning my brothers were already gone off to school and I was dragging my feet getting ready, feeling especially alone that day, and mom asked me what was wrong. I can still see her standing there in her white housecoat that was three inches too long and dragged on the carpet wherever she walked. Of course I said nothing, but she must have known something wasn’t right. She asked me if I wanted to take the day off. The DAY OFF? You can do that, I asked her. We sure can, what do you want to do first? We never left the house that day. She made me pancakes, we played game after game, she watched cartoons with me, it was great. It was one of the best days ever, and it came at just the right time. And she knew it without me even saying a word.

The second story occurred years later when I was a sophomore in college. I had just broken up with what was my first serious girlfriend and I had crawled home to lick my wounds. Of course I didn’t come out with it right away, but Mom again knew something was wrong. Eventually she got me to open up and I cried my eyes out to her. The whole time she was calm and soothing, letting me just spill my guts out. After a while I felt much better, so she told me she needed to run into town to pick up some groceries. What I didn’t find out until much later was that when she left the house she drove to the first gas station she could find. She called Dad at work from a pay phone and cried her eyes out to him over the phone. She didn’t want me to see how my pain was tearing her up inside.

That’s the way Mom was, and I think that’s why Dad asked me to speak to you today. My Mother was not an emotional person on the outside. It was hard to tell where you stood with her sometimes. Everything with her ran very deep, with very little showing on the surface. But she always knew when you were down or needed a little extra attention. She was very in tune to peoples feelings, even though she didn’t demonstrate much of that herself. And I’m the same way. Of all us in this family, I’m the one who is most like her.

That is how I figured out the answer to the question upsetting me, because I’m like my Mom, and she was like me.

And what was that question? Did she know? When she left us, did she know how much I loved her, how much we all loved her and will now miss her? Did I tell her enough? Did I show her enough?

I can tell you now that the answer is yes. She may not have been the hugging, kissing, or fussing type, in fact that may have made her uncomfortable, but she knew how we felt just the same. Just as I would.

She knew we loved her, that I loved her, and will miss her terribly.

Goodbye, mom.

A parent’s passing is a loss that cracks your very foundation and makes you question your every step. I feel cheated that now that I’m a father with older children of my own, and I’m really starting to appreciate what it truly means to raise a child, that I won’t have her here with me so that I can thank her all the more. But writing this blog helps me keep her alive in my thoughts.

I miss you Mom!


  1. I think it's wonderful you remember her this way, Don.

    Your post is particularly touching and timely to me, because I lost my dad six months ago today, on a Monday morning. Nothing sticks with you in quite the same way.

    My dad's name was Don, too. :)

  2. To only be blessed to have a son like you...this was beautiful. Thank your for sharing.

  3. Very beautiful. I'm sure your mom was listening and smiling at every word.

  4. A lovely, heartfelt eulogy. I know she's proud of you.

    I'm sorry for your loss. *hugs*

  5. What a lovely post. Thanks for sharing with us.

  6. well now i'm crying. Your sounded beautiful. I especially loved the story about how she let you stay home from school that day. What a wonderful memory to have

  7. Yeah, I'm crying a little bit too. Beautiful post, Don.

  8. I'm sorry for your loss. I believe we can talk to the ones who have gone before and I believe they can hear us and cheer us on. Great post.
    N. R. Williams, fantasy author

  9. Your mother would be so proud of who you are and what you've become.

    With what you wrote, I miss her too.

  10. Hi there I am one of many single moms and I find your site very interesting. I hope I have much time each day to drop by and check your site for recent post.

  11. This is so beautiful! I'm sitting here crying. You are lucky to have such a wonderful mother:)

  12. Great post. I like how you've chosen to keep her memory in this way.

  13. Thanks for sharing this, DL. Losing a parent is hard, but I thinkwe keep our parents with us, because of their influence on is, perhaps even more so than we keep other departed loved ones with us.

    Thinking of you and your family today.

  14. I'm sorry to hear about your loss. It sounds like even though her absence still hurts you, her memory is what strengthens you to be the best dad you can be, and I'm sure that wherever she is now, she finds that thanks enough.

  15. this is a wonderful post, DL. And I'm so sorry you lost your mom too soon. It makes my heart hurt b/c while I still have my mom, I lost both my g'moms too soon IMO. I miss them terribly and very much relate to your feelings of wanting them here to see my kids, chat with, etc.

    All the best~ ((hugs))

  16. That was lovely. Two tissues lovely. (sniffle).

    There's nothing like being a parent to truly appreciate your parents. thanks for sharing this.

  17. DL, I've got tears in my eyes reading about your mother. It sounds like you had such a special relationship with her, and its so beautiful that you remember her each year. Hugs to you.


  18. Words can't express how beautiful this tribute is!! Thank you for sharing it.

  19. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing. You're part of a lucky family.

  20. This is beautiful. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm sure she's so proud of you!

  21. Beautiful. Thank you for sharing it.

  22. Thank you for sharing. Everyone expresses grief in their own personal way.

  23. That was very beautiful. I hope I can be half the mom she was.

  24. I understand why you recall those details so vividly. I do the same thing remembering the day my mom died over 11 years ago.

    Yes, they knew (and know) that we love them...



  25. What a beautiful and heartfelt tribute you wrote about your Mom. I really loved that story of your Mom allowing you to stay home & take a day off from school. That right there makes her awesome times three.

    It's good of you to write that tribute & there are many readers who will come across this fine remembrance, they may not comment, who really understand your love for your Mom.

    Thank you.

  26. This is a beautiful post that I'm so glad to have read. The story of your mom letting you take a day off from school to spend with her made me shed a tear and crack a smile at the same time.

    Thank you for sharing with us!

  27. Such a beautiful and wonderful tribute to your mom. Thanks so much for sharing and posting this :)

  28. Thank you so much for sharing that Don. You were both very blessed to have each other and I'm sure she lives on in your heart.

  29. Wow, a very moving and poignant post. You honor her, sharing her this way.

    Things were complicated between my mom and I. The day of her funeral, I came home to my apartment and wrote her a letter. It came out as a poem....

    Beautiful post. I feel honored, as if I've met her myself. Thank you...

  30. Very touching post, DL. I'm honored to have read it and grateful for your beautiful words. They brought tears to my eyes.


  31. Didn't see this until today. It's beautiful.

  32. Kelly ~ Thank you! I've done that for my children every now and then when they look down...and I think of my mom everytime. :)

    Erica ~ It's my own way of keeping her memory alive. Thank you!

    Catherine ~ I really appreciate that!




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