Thursday, September 29, 2016


For the last number of months, I had been talking with a really fab co-worker about a milestone birthday she had approaching. Though I repeatedly tried to convince her that she was worthy of a kick ass destination celebration, she'd decided to take some time off and celebrate in a very low key fashion. 

Well, from her announcing that 'low key was she' mindset, every chance I got, I encouraged her to pack up her man and get on a plane.  Short story long, when they decided to bolt to Jamaica, I squealed with sheer delight.

A tad puzzled by my overzealous reaction, I explained my story that all of you regular readers are all too familiar with. That my mother died at the young age of 57, which has left me with a very deep (and somewhat distracting energy) to embrace adventure; which includes getting as many different stamps in my passport before I arrive at the age when she passed.

I don’t know what it is... but the thought or news of death rocks me to the core.

Trying to ensure my mother shared our day...

I’m not sure if it’s because I started experiencing death from a preteen age, or it's the long standing deep seeded feeling I have that I will die young. Either way, the last couple of days have affirmed what I've believed since my mother passed in 1987; life is short and be sure not to let it pass you by.

Why so reflective? In the matter of 24 hours, two young lives were lost in the small town which I live. One was the age of my eldest and the son of a friend I went to high school with, the other a business acquaintance that occupied my Sales & Marketing lane. One was somewhat expected due to illness, the other, my lane occupier, was a very sudden loss that has left a large part of our community in shock. 

As I began searching for a photo to accompany my post, my thoughts immediately shifted to my Mom. In turn, I rummaged though boxes, dusting off all of the proofs from my wedding day in 1988. Out of the blue I remembered asking the photographer to take pictures of me with the last photo I have of my mother before she became ill.

When I was done reminiscing over all of the proofs, I realized something. In almost 100% of the photos taken at the house, her picture is propped on the handmade coffee table my brother made, as well as her last Lazy Boy chair is in sight. I honestly never noticed that detail until tonight.

I can't believe it. Almost 30 years later, how amazing is that?

PS: I couldn't help but put the photo focus on my Mama.

Mom and Me with my Jr. Bridesmaid Joni.