Yesterday I was at our upstate supermarket in Cairo, New York, and there was Mother’s Day stuff everywhere. I told the lady at the register “Happy Mother’s Day if you’re a mom.” She said, “Yes, I am, and thank you.” I then told the bag boy to be good to his mom, because she won’t always be around. He smiled and nodded.
Eliza Mae Thompson, my momma, would have been 93 this year. Before she died suddenly on May 4, 1989, I had envisioned her living with me at one time or another in her retirement. She didn’t make it past 63. I’m now only a few years from that age (which is freaky, honestly). For me, the lesson of her early, unfathomable death was to not take anyone, or any of my remaining days, for granted. In the blur of our lives, that’s not always so easy to do.
The photo posted here is from her school days. I love that grin. When people say I look like her (we all do), it’s the most flattering thing, because her “look,” for me, is all in those smiling eyes. When I’m down, I try to think of her, to keep mine smiling as well.
Love you big-big, Momma.
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