It’s been two years today since Mom was laid to rest next to her sister, who died just 12 days before her. And not a day has gone by that I haven’t lovingly thought of them both.
Grief is often a moving target. It comes on without warning, like an ocean sneaker wave, and knocks me flat. Sometimes, I dust myself off and keep going. Other times, I succumb to wallowing in despair, almost incapable of putting one foot in front of the other.
We buried Mom on the second day of Seattle’s regular baseball season. The Mariners were “away,” but beat the Angels 8 to 3. In fact, the Seattle won the first three games of the season, starting strongly with a clean sweep.
Both Mom and Aunt Jo would have loved that.
I haven’t wanted to watch a single baseball game on TV for two full years. I just can’t do it. I haven’t been to Safeco Field either. It just wouldn’t be the same without Mom doing her best to “eat her way around the concourse.”
Every year, on both Mother’s Day and Mom’s birthday, all she wanted was to go to the stadium to watch “her boys” play ball—and so we did—racking up the memories, and the calories, while sharing dozens of Major League Mariner Dogs and garlic fries.
Oh, those garlic fries! How she loved them, always wanting “her own” order of them, but then never actually eating them all and handing the tray off to me. I kind of counted on that, and often only bought one $9 order, knowing full well I wouldn’t get to eat any of them while they were still hot.
Well, now I’m crying again, so I guess it’s still not “time” to go to a live game, although I’m sure I could be patient enough to let the garlic fries go cold before I ate any.
I miss you, Mom. So much more than I could ever have imagined. Miss you too, Aunt Jo. So how about sending me some kind of sign from the other side? Like how about sending a winning baseball season this year?
That’s a sign I couldn’t possibly miss, so naturally I’d have to watch!