(no subject)
Again, writing during a hard time in my life. My mothers memorial is in a week. I've been sitting here thinking and writing down what I'm going to say. I never thought I would have to do this so soon in my life. It's painfully unreal. Even as my mothers ashes sit on my dresser, I can't wrap my head around it. From time to time I get the urge to call her, like I always have my entire life, but now that's impossible. It's literally impossible.
I always find myself thinking of the last day I saw her. It was at the CVS across from my old apartment on 3rd and Market. She was there filling a prescription. She hadn't been feeling well for a while. I walked in and she was sitting in the pharmacy looking as she always did. Her hair done, wearing some color of capri pant, and holding her metallic silver Coach bag that she loved so much. I was the reason for her purse obsession. I made the mistake of buying her a Dooney and Bourke bag one year for Christmas. I could tell she wasn't feeling well. I asked her about what was going on and talked about work. I paid her back some money that she had lent me so she could pay for her prescription. I gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek and told her I loved her. As I was walking out of the door I overheard the person sitting next to her ask if I was her son.
A few days after that she got really sick due to the diabetes. She was in the hospital a couple times and they always sent her home. Then one morning before I clocked in at work I sent her husband Amos a text to see how she was doing. He sent me a text back saying she wont wake up. I called him right away and asked what was going on. Amos had gotten up to make her food and have her take her pills. But when he tried to get her up she wouldn't open her eyes. So he called the paramedics and was rushed to the hospital. Right away I pulled Whitney to the back and told her I had to go. I could barely keep back the tears. She didn't ask any questions. She knew it was bad.
About a week and a half after later, November 16th, my mother died in the hospital. My sister, Amos and I were with her when she passed.She was only 52 years old.
I can't express how much my mother meant to me. She raised my brother, sister, and me pretty much on her own. My father left her when I was three. She had never had a job or a place of her own. But despite all that she raised us as well as she knew how. She got a job and found a place for us to live all on her own. My mother didn't have the easiest life growing up and I knew she didn't want that for us. We had some really rough times growing up. But I always knew she was trying her hardest.
I will always remember her as a strong, smart, beautiful, and happy woman.
I always find myself thinking of the last day I saw her. It was at the CVS across from my old apartment on 3rd and Market. She was there filling a prescription. She hadn't been feeling well for a while. I walked in and she was sitting in the pharmacy looking as she always did. Her hair done, wearing some color of capri pant, and holding her metallic silver Coach bag that she loved so much. I was the reason for her purse obsession. I made the mistake of buying her a Dooney and Bourke bag one year for Christmas. I could tell she wasn't feeling well. I asked her about what was going on and talked about work. I paid her back some money that she had lent me so she could pay for her prescription. I gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek and told her I loved her. As I was walking out of the door I overheard the person sitting next to her ask if I was her son.
A few days after that she got really sick due to the diabetes. She was in the hospital a couple times and they always sent her home. Then one morning before I clocked in at work I sent her husband Amos a text to see how she was doing. He sent me a text back saying she wont wake up. I called him right away and asked what was going on. Amos had gotten up to make her food and have her take her pills. But when he tried to get her up she wouldn't open her eyes. So he called the paramedics and was rushed to the hospital. Right away I pulled Whitney to the back and told her I had to go. I could barely keep back the tears. She didn't ask any questions. She knew it was bad.
About a week and a half after later, November 16th, my mother died in the hospital. My sister, Amos and I were with her when she passed.She was only 52 years old.
I can't express how much my mother meant to me. She raised my brother, sister, and me pretty much on her own. My father left her when I was three. She had never had a job or a place of her own. But despite all that she raised us as well as she knew how. She got a job and found a place for us to live all on her own. My mother didn't have the easiest life growing up and I knew she didn't want that for us. We had some really rough times growing up. But I always knew she was trying her hardest.
I will always remember her as a strong, smart, beautiful, and happy woman.