FOOD FOR THOUGHT

LoL so I was thinking today how people often ask me 1) do you have a girlfriend? And then I thought about how dating in the grand scheme of things isn't all that important. HaHa I definitely sound like a single person saying that. But on the real my priorities should really lie in my becoming the type of man I can always be proud of and in making my family proud. Then I thought a little bit more about how when I had a gf it was all well and good, and when my relationship ended and I didn't have a gf I was mildly depressed, then I thought oh the drama. And I reflected on my time with Alisha whose my most recent ex, and how I always told her she was inaffectionate, and how eventually she told me she loved me, and I think that having heard that has made my not having her as part of my life hurt even more, and then I realized that I really don't tell the people I love, I love them, because I fear hurt, and I fear the fact that it sometimes hurt too much to love people and then have to loose them, then I read this:

"Too Young to Loose My Mother"

I WANTED to be mad at her.

But I couldn't.

For the first time in 23 years, my mom missed my birthday.

Every Sept. 30, I'd always get a call in the wee hours of the morning.

"Happy birthday, baby girl!" my mother would say
enthusiastically. "Was I the first to say it?"

After wiping the sleep from my eyes, I would thank her for the
gesture.

On my birthday this year, I didn't get a call or a card from my
mother.

She died in August.

She was 59.

Since we lived about an hour apart, my mother and I didn't see each
other daily. Nor did we talk every day on the phone.

I was always busy chasing after some boy or watching my favorite TV
show, and didn't make time to call.

I figured I could always talk to her later.

I took for granted all the little things I never knew I'd have to
miss.

The birthday calls, her sweet potato pies and the embarrassing way
she used to tell everyone she met that I was her baby.

I miss her high-pitched laugh and her fussing at me for having dirty
dishes in the sink when she'd come over to visit.

My mother had been sick for some time, recovering from a major
stroke. The stroke hit her language center, which is in the back of
the brain.

So for 10 months, she couldn't verbally communicate or move the right
side of her body.

But she could smile and cry.

And she did every time I went to see her in her hospital room.

I'd tell her all the things that were going on in my life and the
world.

When I told her I got a raise, she smiled.

When I told her I had a new boyfriend--and that my dad likes him--she
smiled.

When I told her Bush won the election, she cried.

That's what she was doing the last time I saw her alive.

I don't think she wanted me to leave her room that day. I wonder if
she knew she wouldn't see me again.

The next time I saw her, she was lying peacefully in her mauve
casket, surrounded by flowers.

No smile, no tears, no more pain.

The hardest part of losing my mother was the closing of her casket.

At that moment, it hit me that I would never, ever see her again.

My mother won't be at my wedding.

My mother won't see my first home.

My mother will never meet any of her grandchildren.

And never again will my mother call me to say, "Happy birthday, baby
girl!"

The more I think of my mom, the more I think about the prime moments
I missed of her life.

I could've gone to church with her that Sunday she asked. I could
have taken that hour drive to have dinner with her one weekend. And I
could have picked up the phone.

If I could do it again, I'd do all those things she wanted me to do--
even have the dishes washed before she came over.

That's why I make it a point now to call my father every morning and
before I go to bed.

I stop by his house about once a week just to see how he's doing--and
what he cooked for dinner.

He recently told me it's OK to shed tears for my mother.

And I do.

I heard that every time I cry, it means she's thinking of me.

She must think of me often.

Rest in peace, Ola Mullins Smith.



To reach PORTSIA SMITH: 540/374-5419 psmith@freelancestar.com

KNOW THAT EVEN IF I DON'T SAY IT, I LOVE YOU AND I APPRECIATE ALL THAT YOU DO FOR ME, YES YOU. REALLY, ALL OF YOU OUT THERE WHO HAVE OFFERED ME YOUR LOVE, YOUR LOYALTY, AND YOUR FRIENDSHIP!

Christopher aka CNEL