Love is Blind

It's almost three years since my mother's passing.  Three years I haven't sent a card or package or called for those special occasions, like birthdays and Mother's Day.  And the more I write, the more I understand the reality of human nature; with the passage of time we remember the good and less of the not so pleasant.

And in spite of our tenuous relationship there are moments when I forget myself and think "I should tell my mom about..." but then I remember, I can't.

Milo would be number one on the list.  But, it's often the little things I recall that stop me in my tracks.

Eating lunch in the food court I found myself spreading out napkins like placemats, just as my mother would.

After grocery shopping I instinctively wipe down milk cartons and condiment bottles before placing them in the fridge; part of my mother's germ warfare.  Those bugs on the mayo jar could kill you.

And there are some ideas better abandoned.  Like mailing articles clipped from magazines or newspapers that might potentially be of interest to my children.  Upon receipt of these periodic, over stuffed envelopes from my mother I would usually just roll my eyes, wondering when in my busy life I would have time to read them.

But, now I get it.  I get what I erroneously thought verged on the embarrassing to unnecessary, was mostly done with my well being in mind, and the blinding

love of a mother.

Courtesy of Lehigh Valley Momma
The Naptime Warrior