Remembering Mom – Shane Morton

My mother was something special.  I suppose we all think that in some way.  She had already raised 3 kids when I surprised her and dad much later in life.  Mom and I had a special bond for some reason.  I viewed her through the eyes of someone who knew that he was holding something precious. Something so fragile that it could break at any moment.

When I was 4 my Mom developed an inner ear disorder that made her extremely dizzy if she stood.  We missed out on so many moments together through my young life because of her disability.  I didn’t understand and I would lash out at her when my frustration got to deep.  I shudder to think of some of the words that came out of my childish and immature mouth now.  Huge regrets there.

When I was 15 I performed in Agatha Christies Mousetrap.  It was the first time I truly excelled at something and I so wanted to share it with her.  When she didn’t come it left jagged tears in me.  I can’t explain what happened next.  My mother who had been practically chair bound since before I started school, stood up and was never sick again.  Yes, that means that the illness that she was suffering from wasn’t some ear problem.  It was something that was in her head.  She shook it off and never felt it again.  Heck, she now wouldn’t stop moving.  She would drag us around all over the place.

My mother and I found so much in common in our later years together.  We had always been close.  But now we were finding out how much alike we truly were.  We were getting to experience so much together.  She showed me what strength lies inside us if we could only be brave enough to reach down and pull it out.  Something I think I have excelled in ever since she showed me.

My mother died of cancer when I was 24.  I saw her suffer for the last two years of her life and saw her fight with everything that she had.  I held her hand as she passed away and it was one of the most precious moments of my half lived life.  I think of her often.  When I have hard decisions to make, I try to make the one that she and my father would be proud of.  I try to live my life with as much love and wonder as they did.  I try to be the person that they always wanted me to be.  I follow my artistic passions just as they wanted.  I am proud that they were the parents I was blessed with.  There is so much that I miss about her.  Her laugh, her talents, I used to love to watch her piece quilts.  The intricate stitching that she was able to do awed me.  I miss her smile.  I miss talking to her.  I miss watching old movies with her.  I suppose there is nothing that I do not miss.

She has been gone for almost half of my life now.  Her birthdays come and go.  The day she died…comes and go’s.  Everything is an anniversary of sorts now.  A countdown to slowly forgetting the things you want to remember.  Growing numb to the pain of loss and feeling a little guilty about the fact that time does make it easier. Christmas is the one time that my family, especially my mother demands attention from me.  The holiday has never been a religious holiday for my family, it was about togetherness and presents and decorations.  I have the love of the holiday because of my mother.  I pull out decorations and think of her.  I trim the tree and see her smiling and humming.  When I wrap presents I remember the joy she showed when she was able to give gifts to me and the rest of the family.  I remember the sadness when we had a hard year and didn’t have as much there.  I cook a big dinner just like we did at home. I will always be proud to be her son.  I hope when she checks up on me she is as proud of me.

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