I’m in my early 40s, and my mom is still kind of here.
Probably not for long, though, so I’m going to start writing some of these moments down.
For both of us.
Not really for her, since she doesn’t read much these days.
More for you and me.
For me, because this journal might help me navigate the loss of my mom as I knew her, and as she knew me. Maybe telling this story will help me laugh, cry, and honor these moments as they pass.
For you, because these footfalls treading through the withering autumn grass might offer a way forward for you, too, whatever season you may be weathering.
And I guess that’s my greatest hope for both of us… that this erratic journey of tangled trips and falls doesn’t end with crawling backward on skinned hand and bruised knee, but instead, riding a newfound awkward momentum toward the unexpected.
Stumbling toward joy.