Three Years Gone But Not Forgotten: Thoughts on the Anniversary of Having Lost My Mom

Much like the past three years, apologies to those of you who are looking for wall to wall Oscar coverage today, but this is a day that I’m again using, in part, to mark a very sad anniversary. You’ll be able to see my final predictions for the Academy Award nominations in a post that will be up in a few days. For a moment this morning, however…this is something different and personal for me. Three years ago on this day, I very suddenly lost my mother. It’s not the same kind of sadness as last year, but it’s still there. Simply put, I miss my mom.

When it happened, I shared the sad news here in a post where I urged you all to call your mother if you could. That remains very much the case again this year. In fact, I want to once more share what J.K. Simmons said in his Oscar acceptance speech:

“Call your mom, everybody. I’m told there’s like a billion people or so (watching). Call your mom. Call your dad, if you are lucky enough to have a parent or two alive on this planet. Don’t text. Don’t e-mail. Call ’em on the phone. Tell them you love them, and thank them, and listen to them for as long as they want to talk to you.”

Two years ago, I wrote the following about processing it all, and it still remains true, though obviously life goes on and the wound scabs over a bit more as time marches on. Still, it’s there. I said this previously on the date:

It’s a very sad day for me, and frankly, it’s been a very sad year. There’s no way to properly describe it if you haven’t been through the same kind of loss, but it’s a gaping hole in your heart, in your world, that just doesn’t go away. It’s like a conversation cut off in the middle that you’ll never get to finish. I’m not a fan of goodbyes in general, but this kind of forever one just tears me in two. Most days, I’m more or less fine, but there’s always at least a moment or two throughout the day when it hits me all over again. Some days, and especially on quiet nights, it hits harder, and the wave of crushing sadness comes right back at you.

I’ve done a lot in a year. The site continued to grow. Film festivals were covered. Various interesting events were attended. Romantic interests came and went. At all almost all junctures, I would have wanted to talk to her about it. So, call your mom today if you can. I know I would if I could. I promise we’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow (the podcast is already in the can), but for today, spare a thought for my family and I. It’s a tough day.

Last year, I wanted to add two more things to this. One is that happy memories are starting to be as frequent as the sad ones. Of course, there’s also moments like when I reached for the phone to talk to her about the Mets and their playoff run that it hits me like a ton of bricks. The other things is an urging to keep tabs on your health. Go to the doctor when you don’t feel well, obviously, but also for check-ups. My mom didn’t, which never slowed her down, until it permanently did. She should still be here now. I want all of you to still be here. So, take care of yourselves. Do it for yourself, but do it for your friends and family, too. They want you around for a long time. Just do it.

As for this year, I’d like to say that it’s easier, and in some ways it is, but in others, it just is different. I’m struck by two things Bruce Springsteen said while introducing the song Last Man Standing during his most recent concert tour:

“Death’s final and lasting gift to the living is an expanded vision of this life.”

–

“When you’re 15 it’s all tomorrows and hellos, and later on there are a lot more yesterdays and goodbyes.”

While the immediacy of the grief and sadness has dulled, we’re not yet at the point of the grieving process that President Joe Biden once beatifually laid out. He said, paraphrasing a tiny bit:

“There will come a day, I promise you, when the thought of them brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen. My prayer for you is that day will come sooner than later.”

So, I’m not there yet, but I hope to be. This year, I’m honoring her memory with this post, by spending the day with someone very special to me, and by watching playoff football, a thing she’d have most certainly been watching. I’ll pet the dog, I’ll go get her favorite drink, and I’ll try to remember the good times. I’m sure I’ll also think about other things, some of which I’d rather not get into, but the point of the day will be to not dwell on the negative. There’s a whole lifetime to do that. Today, it’s a solemn anniversary that I’m making a tribute. Here’s to you, mom. You should still be here, but I still am, and I know that’s what you’d care about. Rest well.

I miss you, ma.