9 years too long

This is the most accurate picture of my mom I could find - half-heartedly smiling to appease whoever was behind the camera, big hair, dark eye makeup, a plate of food, and a Dr. Pepper in hand.

My mom, Sandie, was a special kind of mom. The kind of mom that adopted this brown hair, brown-eyed, tan little girl to be her own at the early age of 3. (terrible 3’s might I add) The kind of mom that befriended my biological mom who was still trying to figure life out herself. The kind of mom that fostered my two sisters during the same time.

It’s no secret that we used to butt heads - a lot. The older I get, the more I realize how often we just didn’t understand one another. I was the most emotional girl ever and you - you were hellbent on dusting yourself off, wiping away the tears, and getting back up no matter what life threw your way.

You were a tomboy - I held zero athletic capabilities, ever. All the boys referred to you as the “foxy lady” in your yearbook, I was a theater nerd, self-proclaimed emo, and socially awkward. When you were mad, spit would be pouring from your mouth as I responded with some smart-ass response to challenge your directives, then I would cry. We were like yin and yang.

Back then, I truly believed you wanted me to be unemotional, unphased by the “mean” things people would say and do. Today, I realize you didn’t want my soft heart walking into this cruel world ill-equipped, and you did the best you could with what you had to prepare me for that. Your “dust yourself off and get back up” mentality has continued to propel me into the life I live today. I have you to thank for that Mom.

The more time that passes, there are a few glaring similarities that - with a full smile and eyes full of tears - we share in common. I spend a ton of my days extending a hand to anyone put in my path - you lived the same. From inviting the homeless into Wings&Things to wash dishes for hot food all the way down to inviting so many people into our home - to live and find their way back onto their feet.

You never gave handouts, but rather taught everyone how to metaphorically and quite literally “dust off and pick themselves back up”.

I can also attribute my work ethic to you. Remember when we first bought into Wings&Things and you would literally be out on the floor waiting tables (while managing the restaurant) just so you could make some extra money for the holidays? The last day we got to have you with us before you did anything else, you went straight to the restaurant to cut checks and do the taxes.

Between you and Dad, it’s yall’s fault I’m a workaholic.

Another similarity we share is the sacrificial love for our kids. I think back to my younger years and no matter how tense things were, you never missed one event of mine. Not a single basketball game (despite my lack of talent), not a single baseball game (when Dad would get thrown out of multiple games), and not one night spent with Liam. You were always there. No matter how tired you were or how uninterested you may have been, you always showed up.

Reminds me of the last Christmas we had with you after you were sick for weeks. I remember you crying at Mamaw’s because you were so sick and couldn’t stay to watch everyone open gifts and had to leave early. I’d like to think, my unwavering love and support for my kids come from you.

It’s been 9 years (and a few days) since I last heard your voice. I can still hear your sarcastic response to my question in the dining room that day. I can still remember how insistent you were to spend that Sunday afternoon with Liam and sending me off to church. You were sick for a few weeks and it’s no surprise that the first day you were feeling better, you wanted to spend it with your favorite little man - sorry Paul.

It’s been 9 years - too long - since I’ve received back-to-back calls from you asking what I was doing and reminding me that you and Dad paid for my phone and when you called I better answer.

The things I would do to have you incessantly calling my phone to just ask me 937374 questions - there are days, now, that I wish I could call you incessantly and ask you 937374 questions. Isn’t life funny?

It’s been 9 years - too long - since I’ve gotten to hear your laugh, smell your White Diamond perfume, or felt the sticky hairspray residue on the bathroom floor.

9 years since Paul and I got to blare explicit rap - while you told us how awful it was - only for you to turn it up a week later and sing along in the car. You always found a way to connect with us, even if it was through the Parental Advisory Eminem album or taking me to get my belly button pierced behind dad’s back at 16.

9 years later and grief still finds its rightful place. That’s the funny thing about grief, it ebbs and flows at will. Today is just a stark reminder of your absence. Your absence has taught me so much about myself, as I find a deeper appreciation for love and greater respect for the fragility of life. This day naturally brings mourning and pain for us, but your spirit lingers in the most familiar of places.

I see you the most as I parent these two gorgeous grandchildren of yours. From what I hear from Mamaw, Aryanna is Sandie reincarnated - a wild child. And Liam, he never fails to mention you on the days I need to remember you the most - you have his heart forever.

Although it’s been 9 years too long, there is no finite measurement that can accurately gauge the gratitude I have for you choosing me - when you didn’t have to. I love you Mom and I hope that I am making you the proudest. I miss you - the most.