Here's What I Remember About My Mom

   My mom, 98 years old, praying for a win for the Eagles.

          Today is June 24, my mom's birthday. It's been five and a half years since she crossed over and, though she doesn't visit my thoughts as often as she used to, this morning I woke up and there she was, as alive as ever in my memory, images of her clicking by like a slide show in my mind. 
           She's smiling in every scene. That's how I remember my mother, always smiling. Smiling, laughing, singing - she could break into a song at anytime, much to my mortification during my middle and high school years.  My friends, on the other hand, found my mother funny and delightful. Most everybody found my mother funny and delightful. My mother was often funny even when she wasn't trying to be, a trait I seem to have inherited.
            Ah, Mom, I want to do something to commemorate you today. But what? I know you went through bad times, sad times, hard times, navigated some turbulent waters, who hasn't in their life? I know there must have been times you upset, annoyed, or aggravated me.
​           But somehow - except for breaking into song in front of my friends when I was 13 - I can't seem to clearly remember any of those times anymore. Or if I do, they carry less weight than a feather on my shoulder.
         So here will be my commemoration to you, Mom. I'll remember only the good times, the happy times, the funny times, I'll call my sister today and we'll laugh over memories of you and those times. I know you would like that.