Slowly, but surely, I am starting to settle into my new Los Angeles home. Although, everything will go topsy turvy very soon with the arrival of my sister and her family who are “escaping” the devastation in Puerto Rico. As such, we are going from a home of three people to a home of eight people and a dog by year’s end. I haven’t lived with my sister since the age of 13. It has been a long time, to say the least. Despite all this frenetic activity, I am not too nervous about it all. Yet, everyone keeps telling me that I have a great heart and “bless me” for being so kind. I honestly don’t get that feedback. She’s my sister. Those are my nieces. Why wouldn’t I help them in their time of need? Again, everything we put out into the universe bounces right back onto us. Kindness, love and gratitude ricochet. That’s what I tell my son, especially as he is trying to understand the motivations behind a school bully’s actions. But I will leave that discussion for another day.
As I prepare for my sister’s arrival, I have been trying to restructure the house and sort through the remaining items in storage. I went through a rather large suitcase in my storage unit and found the cutest bag ever. It was a bag filled with little trinkets that my son either made for me or bought for me throughout his young years. My son being like any other nine year old, doesn’t like for me to reminisce about how cute he was as a baby in his swaddle. However, when I showed him the bag of trinkets, he paused his game. Lucky me. He came over to me and pulled out the items and cards. He couldn’t remember giving me all the items in the bag but he remembered quite a few. He smiled and told me he loved me and that I am the best mommy in the world. I told him that he is the best son in the world and we hugged. Can I just sear that moment into my brain forever? Of course, he then went back to his game.
I continued to sift through the bag and found a few items that were actually about my mother. It was the card announcing her death. I caught my breath. It had been her birthday last week. I remembered her birthday and said a prayer up to her. That day in particular was especially hard for me at work, but I didn’t tell anyone. It is my sorrow to work through. I never called my mother mommy. It was always mom and mother. But on that day and today, as I sifted through my memories, she is mommy. Even at my age, I could surely use my mommy to help me get through these days. Every day and forever.