10 Things Losing My Mom Has Taught Me About Living My Best Life

You never know when you’re going to say your last words to someone.

Six Sundays ago, I got the scariest call of my life from my father, and a couple hours later my mother was gone.

Swiped from this earth and my life with no warning and no reason.

Dude 3 told me what his last words were to her when we were in the car the other day, “Mimi, I love you and I can’t wait to see you again.”

Beautiful.

Meaningful.

Exactly what you want to have said to someone when you realize you’ll never be able to say anything to them again.

Mine?

“Hey, Mom, I gotta go.”

We were on the phone and, after an hour long conversation covering everything from the poltergeist I am pretty sure I have haunting my house, to my kid’s performance in a basketball game, and her recent trip to Cape May, I had to hurry her off the phone.

And I never heard her voice again.

In some ways I regret those being my last words, but in others, I am just fortunate that our last moments together weren’t wrought with pain and suffering.

That’s my bright side in a situation where the sun has been ripped from the sky and held hostage in a crate under the earth.

And she was always looking for a bright side—something to be thankful for, a blessing to praise the Lord for, a positive existing to let you know that life is still a gift and tomorrow will be better.

I’ve always sucked at finding bright sides in bleak situations, but I’m trying to live more of the life she always wished for me now that she’s not here to wish it.

Most days, I still fail—I’m not as positive and faithful as she was—my cynicism and general suspicion of humanity’s motives tend to get the best of me.

But I am trying.

To fill my heart with her light, and to live by some of the principles that brought her so much joy while she was with us.

10 Things Losing My Mom Has Taught Me About Living My Best Life

Make your moments count.

And your words too.

I am guilty of living the “actions speak louder than words” life and, while I know that they’re more important in many ways, I’ve also come to realize that words mean a lot too.

I wish my last words to my mother were more meaningful. I wish I had gotten off that phone with a hurried “I love you” instead of just a hurry. I wish I could hear her tell me she loves me one more time, and that I could thank her for all of the gifts she gave me and my family. Even though I know she knows and I thanked her daily without saying a word.

Just hearing it once more would be nice, just like being able to type this out knowing that the last words she heard from me were filled with love would be too.

Don’t waste your time doing things that don’t bring you joy.

And don’t let other people tell you what those things should be.

Love your career?

Awesome, get it girl.

Really just want to give it all up to be a stay at home mom?

Sounds perfect, do you!

My mom always encouraged me to pursue whatever my heart told me to regardless of what outside expectations there were for me and she lived that life by example.

My mom retired when she was 55 and she spent the last 11 years of her life enjoying her family. When she left her career, people were shocked. She still had many years and opportunities ahead of her as a high paid, high grade government employee who was poised to go even further in her career. She didn’t leave to start a business or pursue another opportunity, she left because she wanted more time with the people who meant the most to her.

She never regretted it.

Even though she pursued other ventures at points, what she truly loved was spending time with us and her best days were sitting around her pool, surrounded by her beautiful garden, her dog at her feet, glass of wine in hand, watching my boys swim, while my dad grilled.

Take the time to touch other peoples’ lives.

I remember standing with her by the gym door one Saturday afternoon, waiting for my son to come out of the locker room. As usual he was near the end and, as the boys streamed past, she congratulated them on their performance, by name, every single one of them, “Good game, Nick. Way to go, Steven,” she didn’t miss a child. Some of them stopped to hug her, others just nodded and mumbled their thanks. But she made it a point to know all of those boys, and to be there to cheer not just for her grandson, but also for her team.

She died a few days before their playoff game and the boys dedicated that game to her and played it with Mimi written on their sneakers.

Even people no one else cares to touch.

Every month my mom spent one afternoon making up these little baggies filled with a few toiletries, a small snack and 2 one dollar bills. She would pack them in her car when she went out to run errands and hand them out to homeless people she’d pass on the street corners.

I hated that she did that. And I loved it too.

I was afraid someone would hurt her, but I also knew that her kindness was bigger than my fear.

Very few people actually love unconditionally.

There are expectations, and requirements, deal breakers and ultimatums. But she didn’t have any of those with us. She just loved us, through whatever we were going through. She never met us feel guilty for not having time for her, she never expected us to do anything in return for her kindness, she just loved us and supported us and didn’t ask for a single thing in return.

Be smart with your money and even smarter with your time.

Invest both wisely, spend both meaningfully, but don’t forget which one is most important.

Have faith.

In yourself, in your loved ones, in a higher power.

And be thankful for your blessings.

Sometimes you have to search deep to find them—especially when you feel overwhelmed and overpowered by misfortune—but they’re always there.

As I struggle with losing her this one is both the hardest and easiest to do. I still spend time on the floor of my bathroom (or my closet, or my kitchen, or my basement, or literally any floor is fair game at this point), lamenting that she is not here with me, and the only thing that picks me up and helps me dust the dog hair off my dress and go on with my day, are the blessings that still touch my life each day. And the fact that I can hear her screaming at me to get up off the floor before I scare my babies.

So I do, and I thank her for giving me the strength to do so, and the knowledge to know I need to, and the vision to see beyond this loss into a future where I know that I will be able to make it through a day without collapsing in grief.

I just have to get there.