March 12. How I used to dread this day.
The first several years after my Mom died, especially that first when I was still in college, were especially difficult. Early on, I probably didn’t leave my bedroom, sure that I would break down crying as soon as anyone spoke to me.
Over the years, I’ve written her letters and poems. I’ve had long conversations with my Dad, brother, friends and family about her life, about our grief, about mortality. I’ve donated time and money to the things that mattered most to her, especially the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. Every so often, my Mom appears in my dreams, and I wake up missing her but relishing the memories my subconscious has dug up for me.
This day doesn’t bring as much sadness with it as it used to. It’s a time to reflect on her life. To remember those long summer nights that we’d stay up watching late-night TV and Seinfeld re-runs. Those days that she and I would sneak off to Taco Bell for lunch. Some of those memories have faded with time. But the things I’ll never forget are how much joy she brought everywhere she went. Her eternal optimism, her love for life, her infectious laugh. I’ll always have the values she instilled in me, and I’ll always try to make her proud.
I’ve been thinking a lot this year about what to tell Maya about her grandmother. Sure, I’ll have the stories. I’ll also have my mom’s fear of heights, although I’m hoping to keep that one away from Maya. But what I really want to share with Maya is those same values that my Mom (and Dad) gave me. That joyousness. Playfulness. Optimism. Dedication. Family. That’s what I want Maya to know about my Mom.
In the end, what my Mom really wanted, what any parent ever really wants, is a rewarding life for her children. There’s no better way to honor my mother’s memory than to do and share all the things she taught me with Maya.
Updated photo: Maya and Jason in front of the tree on TCU’s campus that was planted in memory of her grandmother.