Remembering

A year ago my mama went to heaven.  It’s a strange thing for Mama to be gone.  Sadness and joy collide on some days.  Bittersweet.  As this first year without her ends, I have discovered the comfort of remembering.  

On New Year’s Eve my grandson Trenton came to spend the night with us.  We had a couple of friends over and enjoyed the evening.  Not too long before midnight, it was just Trenton and I.  At three, he has no concept of the New Year coming in, so everything I said to him was met with a look of confused anticipation.  We counted down with the television, and at zero, I gave him a kiss and said, “Come on!  We’re going outside!”  He followed me excitedly…still unsure though.  I gave him a pot lid and wooden spoon and showed him with my own how to bang away as we stood on the porch yelling, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” to no one in particular.  

Making memories.

Sharing memories.

Because that’s what my mama did with me when I was a child.  I remembered banging the pot lids.  

Of course tears come sometimes with the remembering.  But sometimes comfort replaces the tears.  I am comforted knowing that I learned from Mama how to make the little things special.  

I miss you, Mama.

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