Don't forget to call your mama
Mine would have been 97 today. Next week will be my first Mother's Day without her.
I was getting into my car a few weeks ago when I heard a faint ringing sound.
I figured someone was calling me on my cell phone, then I realized I was the one doing the calling.
Pocket dial. Butt dial. Been there. Done that.
When I looked down to see who I was accidentally calling, I got chill bumps.
My mother’s name was on the screen. I’m not sure how that happened.
Mama died on November 8. Today would have been her 97th birthday.
Of course, I miss her. My life is not the same without her in it. It has left a big hole in my heart.
There are things I want to tell her. There are things I want to ask her.
I would love to read her the latest story I wrote. If only I could show her photographs of her great-grandchildren.
I miss our visits. After my father died in 2006, I tried to go see her almost every day. She once told me Sunday afternoons were the loneliest for her, so I made a special point to go then.
Yes, today has been a hard one. Next Sunday will be difficult, too. It will be my first Mother’s Day without her.
She was stubborn about learning how to use the flip phone I bought her from Walmart. She didn’t fight technology. She simply ignored it.
That phone number probably still has unused minutes from years ago.
What I would give to have a few more minutes with her.
I was reminded of the poignant book Lewis Grizzard wrote in 1991 as a tribute to his mother. I am keeping it on the corner of my writing desk.
“Don’t Forget To Call Your Mama … I Wish I Could Call Mine.’’
I sure understand.