15

I’ve been counting down the days or maybe the years to another dreadful anniversary. Some days, like some years, fly by and others drag, painfully reminding with each passing moment of your absence - of your quick-witted remarks for just about anything, for your unfinished anecdotes, for your love of books, arts and of life, for your enthusiasm in seeing the latest show and finding the best possible deal to do so, for your capacity to be a friend and for the many friends that I know still carry you in their hearts, for all the things I was afraid to share with you and for the multitude of reasons I wish I had. You were right, just about everything and as I’ve come to learn over the years, your advice has always been as spot on, as was your intuition. But, who listens to mom at that age? 

I was 25. I blinked and I was 32, then 40. It took me many years to realize that I buried a piece of myself with you - a piece that I don’t know if I’ll ever get back, nor want back. I wanted so badly to grow up. I thought that things would be easier as an adult. As a teenager, I promised myself that I would never let you or papa worry about me, not knowing at the mature age of fifteen that you would always worry about me, that you would always carry me with you - that I would always carry you with me. I know now how much you worried, because now I worry about my boys. I had no idea then, I wanted to be a good kid - alleviate some stress and inadvertently probably caused a lot more, because kids are supposed to do stupid things, right? I waited until adulthood to do them. I hope that the boys grow up to be good humans in a not so good world. I pray to see them grow up for both of us. I know how much you would have liked to meet them and that there’s nobody in the world who would have been more proud, (even when they do stupid things).

I understood at fifteen that cancer would separate us too soon, but you kept pushing through, helping everyone in the process with everything from doctor recommendations to theater tickets, with one goal in mind - to raise me. How I wish you’d set your sights higher! And to me, you were always just mama. Mama. You asked about my friends and got to know them, told me not to stay out too late, made my favorite foods even when you couldn’t and gave me unsolicited advice that I didn’t want to listen to then. You threw me a sweet sixteen in lieu of a bat mitzvah and at the time, it was epic - your parties always were. 

Fifteen years of milestones, of celebrations, of disappointments, of new friends found, of old friends lost, of weddings, of funerals, of adventures, of memories, of boxes packed, of pictures taken, of children’s laughter, of their tears, of adult problems that never seem to go away, of trauma unresolved. Maybe it’s not supposed to be so hard. But I don’t have your lightness of being, nor can I fake it. You were never just mama, you were extraordinary.

Z"L ❤️