My mom was only 55 when she died. She was barely on this earth for 18 years before she found
out I was on my way. And I didn’t even bother to give her a full 18 back before
I was ready to leave the nest and join the Navy. And 18 years after that, she’s
gone. 18 years has always seemed like a long time, until now. It’s a blip. It’s
the blink of an eye.
My mom died of a headache. A headache she found out was caused
by tumors. Tumors that had spread there from the cancer in her lungs. Cancer
that rapidly made its way into her bones and claimed her life less than two
months after she went to the see a doctor about that headache.
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| This is my mom! After she had me! Look at that belly! God was good to her. |
My mom lived with this cancer for two years, but you
wouldn’t have known it. She may have known it. But even if she did, she would
have never let on. She’s not the type to complain. She is the type to go about
her daily activities, even at 9 months pregnant, and then get in her car and
drive to the hospital, calling family along the way to let them know she was on
her way to give birth to a baby.
She is the type to go out of her way to help a friend, and even further
out of her way to help an enemy. When you understand that sentence, then you
will understand my mom. Her kindness and willingness to help knew no limits.
I used to pray, like most kids did, that I wouldn’t grow up
like my parents. But I catch glimpses of my mom in me all the time. I have
entire conversations with my daughter that I know are word for word
conversations my mother and I had. I even stop in the middle sometimes and in
the calmest way I can explain it, I tell my daughter that I know what she’s
thinking. I know she doesn’t want to clean her room. I know she doesn’t want to
do chores. I know she doesn’t want to do her homework. I know. I didn’t want to
do any of those things either. And I remember my mother sitting me down and
telling me why doing these things is so important. And begging me to just keep
things clean. And wondering why I have to take off clothes and leave them in
the middle of the floor instead of putting them in the dirty clothes. And I
remember thinking…what is the big deal? Just like I’m sure my daughter wonders
now.
And so all of those times when my mother thought I wasn’t
listening, well I was. And it’s clear to me now that the reason she had to tell
me so many times to do things was so I could memorize her words and be able to
recite them so perfectly to my daughter now. So thanks mom, for continually
repeating yourself. I thought it was annoying when I was a kid, but now I see
the value in it.
But honestly, I am a lot like my mom. The ability to make
anyone I’m talking to feel like they are the most important person in the room.
I learned that from my mom. My smile. All mom. And apparently I sound like her
as well, since every time I would answer the phone when my uncle Jimmy would
call my grandma’s house while I was staying there to help with mom, he would
say Geraldine? And I would say, No, it’s Terrina. And he would say, you sound
just like your mom. This didn’t happen once, it happened like 10 times. And
each time he would reiterate, you sound just like your mom. Her laugh, her
kindness, her light, her soft skin, and apparently her voice, I got it
all.
My mom was only 55 when she died, but she lives. So many
people love her. So many people have amazing stories about her. She has touched
the lives of so many. It is without a doubt, she will not be forgotten.
I heard once that souls pick their parents before they are
ever born. That each soul needs to grow in a specific way, and they pick
parents who will challenge them in just the ways they need in order to mature
and continue on the path God has chosen. I’m not sure I believe that, but I’d
like to. I would like to think that I picked my mom. Because God knows, even
after it all, I’d pick her again and again.
My mom has always been an Angel; she just finally earned her
wings.
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