Call your Mother

My Mother died 14 years ago.

I’d give everything I own to go back in time and spend just more one week, one more day, one more hour with her.

I’d apologize for every bad thing I ever did as a little boy and for every time I disappointed her or let her down. I’d tell her that I should have been a better son. I’d thank her for changing my diapers, tucking me into bed, comforting me when I cried, making my lunches and all of the other things she did for me without ever expecting to be thanked. I would tell her how very much I love her, and that she will live inside of me until my last breath.   I’d hold her and I wouldn’t let go.

I still ache every time I think of her. Each day is like walking through a mine field. I never know when a smell, a sight, a memory, a person, a thought, or something totally unrelated will remind me of her. I’ll be working, playing, walking along or minding my business and suddenly, without warning, I’ll step on a memory landmine that explodes like a dull fire aching inside of me. My chest and throat are so tight I struggle to breathe.

Why did she have to die? All I wanted was a little more time.

If your mother is still alive, pick up the phone and tell her you love her. NOT later. NOT tomorrow. RIGHT NOW.