On April 14th of this year, I posted “Shore-Ly Good Fridays” when the first of many five-year markers occurred for me in 2017. Today is another: the fifth anniversary of my mom’s death.
Five years. Old enough to go to kindergarten. I don’t remember my first day of school but I know Mom walked me there and I imagine it was hard for her to do so; we were close from the start. Maybe she held my hand as I held hers when she took her last breath.
I remember every detail of her hands: the long fingers, nails always painted in clear polish, which she did herself. Her hands, so unlike mine with my short stubby fingers and close cut naked nails.She always wore a gold wedding band on her left hand and usually one other ring on her right. I often picked up rings for her on my travels and she wore them all the time which made me so happy. We would hold hands a lot, in the car, walking on the boardwalk, laughing and being silly.
I couldn’t imagine five minutes without her that afternoon she left. But here I am, five years later, typing this blog on my iPad with the hand that held hers in the end. If heaven does exist, there is no doubt she will be waiting for me at the door, arm outstretched, and we’ll hold hands once again.
Until then, Mom. I’ll keep holding on.
