This is a hard one to write. My mother died.

Mom was 96 when she died. She had Alzheimer’s the last seven or eight years.

As you can guess, or you may know first-hand, that means I have been losing her… the woman I know so well… slowly for years. 

I have lost the woman who cooked while belting out America’s top 10 along with the radio… always with the wrong lyrics.

I have lost the scamp who would eat half a bag of Doritos and hide the rest from herself only to find them a year later and finish them off.
She thought she was getting away with something but there was always the tell-tale orange dust on her cleavage.

I have lost the mother who would pretend to be a different person who just looked like my mom. This saccharine sweet version could always coax us into bed at night like an American Mary Poppins. 

I have lost the mom that took us to the beach every summer so that the family stayed connected throughout all the iterations of our lives.

I no longer have the mom that sends me piles of newspaper clippings ranging from parenting advice and books to read, to how to get three meals out of one chicken.

Gone is the Olympic level caregiver, taking care of Dad and her own mom for the same eight years of their Alzheimer’s journey. 

She also called her sister-in-law every day for her eight years with Alzheimer’s with the goal of getting Aunt Audrey to laugh every day. And she did.

I have lost the woman who believed the best virtue was to be clever. And she was just that… very clever. And smart. And sensitive. And hilarious.

Mom would do a lot for a laugh. 
One year at Christmas when we were making molded mints she used her belly button as the mold. Just to crack us up.

I have been losing this woman for years.
And I am ok with that.
It’s like pulling the band-aid off slowly.
That is the journey. 

But what I grieve most now… at her death… is about me.
I mourn losing the people who deeply believed in me.

It was such a gift to have people who think I can do anything. Especially as an adult.

She was the last of my big three cheerleaders.

Sure, my husband loves me in a whole different, wonderful way and would take a bullet for me. 
I really believe he would. 

But he has a more realistic idea of my limitations.

He knows my head would explode if I had to be an engineer.
The daily math would curdle my soul.

When I mentioned that to Mom as irrefutable proof of my limitations, she gave me the side eye and skeptically said, “Eeeeyeaaaa, I think you could be an engineer.”

So, I have choices as to what to believe.

I can believe that I have lost the last of my major cheerleaders.

I can be realistic and logical.

Or I can be my own believer. 

I can believe that I can do anything.
Even when it’s not logical. 

I don’t know which one I will choose yet.

But I know what I will choose to be for my children.
I am in awe of them.

Will I send them endless links to videos that will improve their lives?

Certainly.

I have learned from the best.

Rest well, Mom. I’ve got it from here.