11/52 Self Portraits in Black And White - Happy Birthday Mommy!

Today is my Mommy's birthday. She would have been 62, but she will forever be 31. I wanted to pay tribute to her today, by showing off this sweater. This sweater is over 30 years old and the only thing I kept of my Moms. She wore it all the time. I always thought it was too busy and never really liked it, but it was her. The sweater has been tucked away in the closet and one day I decided to pull it out and try it on. As I slide my arms into the sleeve I really NOTICED the sweater. I mean really looked at it and realized it was hand knit! I always thought it was store bought. Being a knitter now, I was able to tell the hand knit stitches, and all the work my Mom put into this sweater. All the little flowers, the diamond motif, the yarn made buttons. It was just amazing to me. No wonder my Mom wore it all the time. She must have been so proud of her work. Having this knowledge, the sweater is more precious to me than ever.

I love that I share knitting with her, that we have this connection. Her memory, her life, her gift is alive in me. 

Happy Birthday Mommy! I love you always and forever.

Motherless Daughter on Mothers Day

Mommy, Me and brother Jay

My Aunt Elba's wedding

My Mom and Grandmother at my Grandmother's wedding

Three generations - My Mom, Grandmother and Great Grandmother. My Mom's coffee pot, brewed coffee all day long, every day. I get my coffee addiction from her.


Mommy, and sister Karen

Her words - a journal I have of hers. She only has 3 entries in it.

I've been a motherless daughter since the age of 15. And after 29 years I still miss her everyday. Memories have faded with time, I can kind of remember her voice, her laughter. I would give anything just sit with a cup of coffee (her's black, no cream, no sugar) and chat. To share my life, now that I'm all grown up and a mother myself. Right now, I've lived 13 more years than she did. She died at 31.

With Mother's Day around the corner, I felt a tug at my heart. I pulled out the few pictures I have of her, her journal and sat on my bedroom floor longing for her. I caressed the pages knowing many years ago, late at night, she wrote the words that were on her heart at the time. Her hands touched these very pages. She wrote to God. Asked that He guide her to Him, make her a better wife and mother. I've read her words before, but they never hit me like they did at that moment. Her words and feelings were my own. She even wrote "I am really getting tired, I want to knit, and then I don't." I have said those very words.

I look back at the precious few pictures I have and wonder about the woman she was. The one I wonder most about is the one in the hospital with my Grandmother by her side. I'm not sure who took the picture, but what was my Mom thinking at that moment, knowing the cancer was winning. What was my Grandmother thinking as she watched her daughter dying. So much love and heartache in that one moment.

I miss my Mother everyday. Wish I had more time with her. Wish I could jump into that picture on that sunny afternoon many years ago. Sit with her on grass, hold her hand, and tell her I love her.

Your Story Matters

I've often wondered what people will say of me once I'm gone. What memories they will hold on to. Do you ever wonder that?

We are on this earth for such a short time. Whether we get  1 yr. or 100, in the scheme of things, its just a dot of time.

Will my boys remember my laugh? Will they remember me knitting? What will they hold dear? What pictures will they cherish?  I think about Manuel, far from me in Texas. What will his memories be? Will it be our disagreements? Our arguments? Will he remember I love him, even though we do fight? Is there something I can do now to change what he remembers?

If I go before Fonzy, what will he miss most about me? Will he see a tree in Fall, with the vibrant oranges, reds and yellows, and remember how much I love Fall. Sunsets, and clouds. Will he miss putting his hand under me while we sleep? The love we make, the fights we have, the life we live?

I think about this often. Maybe it's because I find myself forgetting....forgetting things about my Mom....forgetting things about Samuel. I want to hold onto those memories so tightly, but no matter how tight I hold on, they slip through my clenched hands...and I hate it.

Their stories mattered. My story matters. Our stories matter. And I don't want to forget them.

Did She Like Carrots

Chopping carrots for our Sunday pot roast, my mind wandered to the news that Stuart Scott, a longtime ESPN Sportscaster, had passed away from cancer at the age of 49. Too young to die. Whenever I hear of someone passing away from cancer, and at such a young age, my mind goes to my Mom. She was 31 when she lost her battle to cancer, I was 15. I have more memories of her being sick, than well. My heart goes out to Stuart's daughters and his family. I pray they remember all the good times, and not so much the sick.

I don't remember Mommy ever cooking carrots. I wonder if she liked them.

Cancer sucks ya'll.

Mr. Clean, Mr. Clean - My Momma's Husband

You know, it's funny the things you remember. I've been thinking about my Mom alot lately. I just at this very moment realized the anniversary of her death was January 6th. She has been gone for 25 years now. Such a long time.

I have many happy memories, but as time goes on you forget things. Your memory starts fading, but then you see something and it sparks a memory. Mr. Clean did it for me today.

My mom once told me when she was little she use to pretend Mr. Clean was her husband. I don't remember what we could have been talking about, but she shared that tidbit with me. Of all the people in the world to pick, she picked Mr. Clean. Well - he wasn't a bad looking guy and at least her house would be clean, right?

365 - 8/still missing you

mommy's sweater - only piece of clothing of hers I kept

It's been 22 years today since Mommy died and I still miss her. Time may help ease the pain, but it never, ever goes away. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her or miss her. Not one.