7 years

My mom’s heaven is a house on the seashore where she awakes every morning to the sound of gulls and crashing waves.

Her mornings are filled with homemade pancakes and bacon, walks on the beach, and swims in crystal turquoise waters. Sometimes she floats. Sometimes she snorkels. Sometimes she wades up and down the shore casting out her fishing pole hoping for a bite. Sometimes she lays in the warm sand, working on her favorite word search puzzle soaking up the perfect sunshine without a care in the world.

Friends and family of days gone by come to visit her beach house and they feast on old family recipes, chatting about the good old days over sweet cups of piping hot cafe con leche. The sound of dominoes clicking and sliding against the table can be heard until the wee hours of the night as they enjoy each other’s company, with loyal pups curled up by toes. 

Sometimes days are filled with trips to her favorite places, driving around in a red convertible singing along to songs of Donna Summer, shopping at big retail stores, crunching on bags of freshly popped popcorn, and sipping ice cold cups of Coca Cola as she pushes her cart along the aisles. 

When the days get cooler, her heaven is a campground where her and her mom sneak away for cozy mountain trips. Conversations about life and family fill their days as they sit by warm campfires under millions of stars picking up where they left off years ago.

At night, my mom sleeps and dreams of us, just as we sleep and dream of her here on Earth. In her dreams she sees our successes, hears our worries, and laughs with us during our craziest of times.

And on the quietest of nights, when the stars align just right, we reunite in those dreams, talking about our lives, and creating new memories that no photograph can capture.

I’ll miss you forever mom, but the last 7 years without you have made me strong and soft, brave and vulnerable, grateful and still.

Until we meet again…


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