Wednesday, August 22, 2012

It's Really Not So Final After All

After my mom graduated from nursing school and was able to get a job making descent money, we got into the routine of going every Saturday morning to buy groceries and to Wal-mart to buy laundry detergent, etc.  She would treat us to something extra each week.  Something we wanted within a certain price range.  One week she had promised to buy me a particular pair of shoes I wanted.  All of my friends were wearing Eastland shoes, and I just had to have a pair.  But I purposely didn't tell her how much they cost.  I knew spending that much money on a pair of shoes was not something she would do.  Having to do without for so long taught my mom to be frugal, and there was always the fear of not having enough money for necessities that stayed with her until the day she died.  I knew once she realized the shoes I wanted were $55 she would tell me no, but I thought I would be able to play the "you promised me" card.

I was so wrong.  She insisted I get a knock-off brand that were navy blue.  Everyone knows Eastland shoes are brown, and I was going to be made fun of.  Sort of like the time I heard a bunch of girls standing around the lockers one day making a big deal out of white Keds.  You couldn't be their friend unless your shoes had the blue tag on the heel.  Mine didn't.  My shoes didn't come from the mall or some fancy shoe store.  Mine came from Wal-mart.

My mom and I got into a huge argument.  Raised voices and all.  It was pouring heavy rain, and my mom was already getting sick.  She had a cough, and I could tell she felt horrible.  But my selfishness outweighed any concern for her.  I wanted those shoes.  I told her she didn't care I was going to be made fun of.  Bottom line, I was being a huge 14 year old brat.

I wish I could take that day back.  I wish I had just said okay when she told me she needed to get home.  I wish I hadn't accused her of not caring and not understanding what it was like to feel embarrassed that I didn't have the things my friends had.  The truth is, she understood it better than I did.  When she was a kid, she had cardboard in the bottom of her shoes to cover the hole in the sole.  I always had nice shoes.  They might not have always been brand-name shoes, but I never had to wear shoes with holes in them.  In fact, after my mom was able to build up some savings, she did end up buying me name-brand clothes and shoes.  By that time Eastland shoes weren't so popular, but I did finally get those white shoes with the blue tag.

I think back to that day and wish I had acted differently.  I have a lot of those days.  I've heard people say they have no regrets in life.  I can't say that.  I have hundreds of them, and some mighty huge ones, I might add.  One regret that haunts me to this day is not telling my mom I love her before hanging up the phone for the last time.

Yesterday was 5 months and today is 22 weeks.  Every day I ask the Lord, "Does she know how much I truly love her?'"

I should have told her.  I should have told her despite all the senseless arguments and grudges I held against her at times, I've always loved her.  I should have told her how proud I was of her.  I should have told her I was grateful she was my mom.  I should have told her how much it meant to my heart the day she told me I was her best friend.  What a gift it was to hear those words come out of her mouth!

It's been 5 months ... 22 weeks ... since my last conversation with her, and I failed to tell her I love her.

I miss her so much.  I miss talking to her every day.

I was telling Mary yesterday that the grass on her grave has now almost completely covered it.  There are just a few bare spots.  It's hard to see.  It's makes her death seem final.  As long as it was just dirt, I felt like there was a chance this could all be a bad dream.

Mary reminded me it's not final.  Makes me long for Heaven all the more.

As I was strolling through Facebook early this morning, I discovered this video on my aunt Brenda's page.  It's simply beautiful.

There actually will come a day when I stop counting the weeks and months.  I pray Jesus comes back to take us home before I start counting the years.

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