when the doorbell rang.....

It was 23 years ago and it was a Friday. I still remember the way my body felt when I heard Grandma's door bell. I knew what it meant before the door opened, but I wasn't prepared for the look on Dad's face.

Rewind.... it's Monday, January 23, 1995. It was a normal school day followed by a basketball game that evening. Now, I am sure that I played a stellar game, although I don't have "stats" from that night. I LOVED playing basketball and after this particular game we went out for dinner, which was scarce for us. It was a Chinese restaurant and then home for bed.

Tuesday seemed normal from what I recall, then came Wednesday.....that was the start of the end. Mom didn't take us to school because she had the "flu". SO, Dad took us and that meant leaving earlier. I was a pain to get out of bed anyway and getting up earlier for Dad to take us was NOT exciting.

Us ~ Yes, I have a little brother, pesky little thing.... who did "no wrong" in the eyes of Momma. (I on the other hand might have been a smart mouth) I won't forget the details from Wednesday through the rest of the week. Well, Robbie (mister angel, never does wrong) got in a food fight in the cafeteria and was sent home from school early. Since Mom was sick so our neighbor picked us up. ~ BONUS! I got to leave school early and I wasn't the one in trouble when we got home. We stopped to pickup a Sprite for Mom, hoping that would help with her nausea. Little did I know when I gave her that glass it would be the last time I saw her.

Friday, around this time (early afternoon) the door bell rang. Mom had been in the hospital since Thursday morning thirty minutes away from where Robbie and I were staying.

So, I knew, I just knew.

Many things have happened over the years since her death. Twenty three years is just incomprehensible. She was only 35 ~ I will be 35 next year. They say (who is they?) it gets easier with time. I disagree. It changes with time and that doesn't always mean easier- it's different with time. That's what I think. It's just different, not easier.

This is a picture of me and Mom in Fisher Park. Now, ABBA Design is right around the corner from Fisher Park.

Today, I am doing a lot of thinking. Like, what would she think of me and where I am? What would she tell me if she could say, only one more thing? What did she leave me with? Am I like her? Do I look like her, would she be proud? These are all questions I think about, some of which I have the answers.

My Mom loved to write her feelings down and it's one thing she left me with. I can look at these old notes and feel how she was felt. The funny part is, I have some of the same feelings she did. She was very strong & passionate and I feel she passed that on to me. (some people call me stubborn, I call it passionate) But, she experienced disappointment and heartache too.