My mom died in late October, coming up on eight years ago. When we get to this time of year, I can always feel it in the air. Memories of that time seem to be lying just below the surface. That sense of sadness is always a bit closer than I’d like.
Driving the boys to camp this morning, we passed a hospice. I had never noticed it before, because it’s tucked discreetly (and somewhat depressingly) into a nondescript office park. Still, today it made me think of my mom; she was on home hospice the week or two before she died.
As my mind went to that place of remembering how frail my mom was in those final weeks at home, Blake piped in from the back seat, breaking my sad silence. Out of nowhere, he said:
“Do you remember mommy’s mommy?”
The words gave me chills. Obviously, he’s never met my mom, but I have talked about “mommy’s mommy” a number of times. Shocked that he would remember at the precise moment I was thinking of her, I asked, “What did you say, bud?”
(A little annoyed to have to repeat himself) “I said, ‘Do you remember mommy’s mommy?’”
My eyes welled up a little, and I still have chills thinking about it. Is it possible that my 3-year-old son could sense I was thinking of her at that moment? Is it possible to share your feelings of grief (or love) with your child, an entire row of car seats away?
Whatever the case, it made me realize that my mama must have been talking to both of us today. And I can’t tell you how happy that makes me feel on this particular morning in October.