“She’d always say: ‘My guardian angel is getting tired.’ There were so many close calls. She’d go skydiving, and scuba diving, and ski double black diamonds. Once she got lost in subzero temperatures while cross country skiing. Another time she missed her landing zone while skydiving, and got tangled in a tree above an angry bull. My friends used to joke that I was a ‘mama’s boy,’ but it never bothered me. I was proud of it. And my friends loved her too because she had so many stories. But more importantly to me, she was always there. I was such a sensitive kid. I felt things really deeply, and I still do. If I have an argument with someone, it sits with me for awhile. I’ll withdraw. And brew. But Mom could walk into a room and know exactly what I was feeling. She was my entire world growing up. And she became my best friend. That’s why it’s been so hard to process. I was in the living room when I got the call. It was my Dad, and he said: ‘Your mom has been missing for eight hours.’ She’d been scuba diving in Mexico, and apparently she never came back to the boat. I told my dad not to worry. I said: ‘We’ve been here before.’ But my mouth went dry. My heart dropped into my stomach. And the moment I hung up, I turned to my wife and started crying. That night I woke up out of my sleep, and I knew that she was gone. A few weeks later my wife gave birth to our first child. It was the most exciting day of my life, but it was bittersweet. Because Mom wasn’t there to share it. But I try to parent the same way she did. I feel her presence in the day-to-day stuff. And she still comes to visit me sometimes. Some people don’t believe in that, but I have these dreams. Sometimes I’ll kinda see her, but usually it’s more of a sense. And I’ll wake up so heartbroken that it wasn’t real, and I’ll start crying. But I’m grateful for the dreams. Even though they’re hard to deal with, I’m grateful that I can still feel her presence in some way. When I was a little kid, and I was having a real hard time, she used to come lie down next to me. She’d say: ‘How’s it going bud?’ Or something simple like that. But mostly she’d just lie there. And that was the only thing I needed.”
“We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.”
— Eleanor Roosevelt (via meineluft)
