Oh Momma Chiquita Banana

Three years.... three long, grueling short years. My Mom, my rock, my advisor, my friend has been gone. I am so incredibly blessed to be her daughter. Some people are never so lucky to feel a Mom's unconditional love. I was even more blessed that she prepared me for life's difficult times. While it hasn't been easy, I learned everyone has an inner strength that will prevail, but it's okay to lean on a friend while waiting for that surge.

The last few weeks of her life were swirled with emotions for me. Happiness, laughing, sharing stories about the millions of our silly times and memories. Then extreme sadness realizing our present times were soon going to be memories. We filled hours with endless chatter. I even carried with me a list of questions I wanted her thoughts on. We opened kitchen cabinets, took pictures and jotted down the stories behind her dishes, my grandmothers' dish, gifts from her sisters and so on. I am so thankful for that time. We spoke of things we never dared cover before. I wish it would have been done years ago when nothing was looming over our heads.

One early morning, I walked in to see Mom sitting on her bed, head bowed and looking at her hands. Those wonderful, loving hands were not attractive to her with their sun spots and freckles. I sat next to her in silence staring at our reflection in her mirror. "How did we get here?" I thought. Precious moments were ticking away. With her eyes fixated on her hands, she quietly spoke, "So this is how it ends..." I put my arm around her shoulder as she rested her head on me. I could feel my eyes fill with tears. She asked, "By Christmas?" I softly nodded. "Thanksgiving?" Again I nodded. "Soon?" I could only muster a partial nod to her question. No words would form in my mouth. "Okay" and a gentle headshake was her accepting response. And there we stayed, in the moment of acceptance and an unfamiliar roll reversal, in silence. Tears, one by one, rolled down my face. I stared at our image in the mirror trying to remember that moment forever. I wondered how she made it through her own mother's passing. As if reading my mind, she shared how I will make it and how I would get my siblings and Dad through this as well. In an unrehearsed moment of her own strength, she spoke softly as I closed my eyes and listened. We hugged one another and stayed that way well after the words ended. It was then, I'm positive, she transferred a large portion of her strength to me.

It's funny the things that stick in my head. While growing up, some of our best conversations involved her in the bathroom fixing her hair and putting on makeup. I would lay on her bed and talk while she was getting ready to go somewhere. I still see the face she makes while brushing the back of her hair or how she moved her mouth and cheeks when applying foundation all while conversing with me. Sunday, I was getting ready when Jadyn climbed on my bed and was babbling on and on. My first thought was "I don't have time! I have to get out of here or I'll be late for work." Then I felt myself carrying a big grin realizing these may be some of her favorite talks as well. I walked over and gently kissed her forehead. Pulling down my hand from her face, she exclaimed "Mommy, your hands look funny.... they have freckles!" Reflecting on their transformation over the past few years, I proudly responded "Yes, they do."


I posted the following comment a few years ago when asked about my hero:

My Mom took an unbeatable challenge, fought with everything she had, stayed longer than most expected and smiled every morning she woke up. Pity was not her thing, she was much more interested in living. She really showed me what matters most. "This too shall pass..."

Love you, miss you, always with you.