It is mind-boggling to me that I've lived two years without my mom.
I still want to call her on my way home after school each day.
To tell her when some good happens.
To tell her when something not-so-good happens.
To let her know we've boarded our plane or we've landed at our destination or we've checked into our hotel.
To ask for her advice or have her recall something - a name, a song, a show - because it has escaped me.
I don't think there will ever be a day when I won't want to call her.
I think about her all the time, especially in the quiet moments, when I'm alone.
But also in the noisy moments, when my brothers, my sisters-in-law, my niece, my nephews, and our dogs are all together and it's loud and messy and we're laughing and talking over each other, and I just think to myself, "Mom would love this."
731 days of thinking about her and wishing she were still here.
731 days of navigating life without her.
Death anniversaries are so difficult and I've been contemplating this day across the entirety of this trip. My mom loved to travel and she visited all seven continents, but one of the adventures she loved best was the trip she took to Africa with my aunt. She knew we were planning a trip to Africa, but we lost her before we had any concrete plans to share. My last-ever conversation with her was about traveling and being happy and I can't even count the number of times on this trip that I've wanted to facetime with her or send her pics of the animals we've seen. She loved rhinoceroses and spoke about how seeing them in the wild really left an impression on her heart; I know she would have been so happy to learn about the work they're doing at the rhino orphanage we visited.
When I thought about writing this post, I had so many things to say about loss and grief. I had song lyrics and quotes to share.
But I've decided to take a different approach. Not because I'm "done" grieving...I will never be "done" and I consider the grief I carry the price I pay for having been gifted such an extraordinary mother.
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| my mom and me |
Instead, I'm sharing a few signs that she has been with me on this trip. If that's not your thing, that's ok. It doesn't have to be.
It's my thing. I consider myself a very logical and science-based person, but I am also a romantic. And these little signs have brought me great happiness and a sense of comfort that I don't need anyone else to understand.
So on this, the second anniversary of her death, I'm capturing them here.
One sign was only two days ago when we were in Dubai. We were at the Museum of the Future, and in the gift shop was this glass tube with these neon words in it:
"Fly Me to the Moon" was our song...the song she sang to me when I was a baby and continued singing to me throughout my life. I love that song more than I can say and I played it for her and sang it to her the day before she passed away. It's a request I make when I'm at a piano bar and we had matching bracelets with those words engraved on them:
So when I saw that glass tube and those words in the gift shop, I felt my mom was sending me a sign.
Another sign was also in Dubai. When I was a child, I was terrified of butterflies. Terrified. To ease my fears, my mom made me a hat covered in colorful butterflies (if I can find a picture of that hat, I will share it at a later time!) and I wore it often and learned to love butterflies because of her. C and I went to a butterfly garden a few days ago, and a butterfly landed on me. Not just for a few seconds. Not just a minute or two. But for over half an hour as I walked around, talked to C, and took photos, it stayed with me. I had to gently remove it when it was time to go. I time stamped the selfies I took with it on my sleeve:
So when that butterfly chose me and stayed with me, I felt my mom was sending me a sign.
The final sign was when we were out on a game drive at the second property on our safari. C and I were sitting on the roof of the vehicle and my mom was very much on my mind. I was thinking, "I hope she's looking down on us right now...I bet she can't believe I'm actually sitting on the top of this vehicle! I hope she's proud of me for throwing caution to the wind in the name of adventure!" And out of nowhere - it had been a little overcast during the day, but it had not been raining - a rainbow appeared, right when we spotted a mother rhinoceros and her baby:
I cried and cried and cried on the top of that vehicle because when I saw that rainbow over that mother and baby, I knew my mom was sending me a sign.
Although she's no longer here with me, she is with me. Always.
Sometimes I read through my text conversation with her - it's filled with little gems that make me smile, like cute animal memes, nature pictures, and the like. I came across this that she sent to me on my 50th birthday, less than two months before she passed away, and it reminds me how lucky I am be have been loved like this:
“Love as powerful as your mother's for you
leaves its own mark...
to have been loved so deeply,
even though the person who loved us is gone,
will give us some protection forever.”
~ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ~
Miss you so much, Mom. Thanks for letting me know you're out there.
Happy Tails to you...
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