We often don’t realize how significant even the smallest gestures can be.
I grew up in a household where my mom was my best friend. I told her my secrets and my friends told her theirs too. Many a late night was spent around the kitchen table laughing so hard we cried.
Christmas was a big deal in our house and every year featured no less than five Christmas trees each decorated in a different theme. The Easter bunny also came to our house well into my 20′s (he left gifts but had given up on hiding chocolate).
And while my sister and I were definitely spoiled, my mom spoiled others as well. My mom loved to give gifts. She found joy in giving to others.
When I was 25, my mom died suddenly.
Here’s the thing about death (based on my experience, I can’t speak for others)…it’s bearable while you’re in the middle of things. People are there for you in the hospital. They bring meals in the following week. They come to the funeral. And then life goes on. And people forget that your life isn’t just going on. It’s that first year of “firsts” that’s hard. And then the second year when you realize that this is just the way it is now.
So as life moved on normally for others, Mother’s Day then arrived. At my church, there was a tradition of distributing a single flower to each mother at the end of the Mother’s Day service. I went to church without any expectation of anyone remembering that it was my first Mother’s Day without a mother. And yet there on a table was a huge potted flower for me. Someone had remembered my first Mother’s Day.
Easter was next. I received a random phone call from my friend’s mom informing me that the Easter Bunny wasn’t sure where I lived now so had left me an Easter basket at their house. Someone had remembered my first Easter.
October arrived and I met the man I would later marry. That was also the month of my mom’s birthday as well as my birthday. My now-husband made such a huge deal about my birthday that by the time it was over, I hadn’t even remembered that it was my first birthday without my mom.
Christmas Eve arrived and my now-husband proposed. It was no longer “my first Christmas without my mom” but it became “the Christmas when I got engaged”. He had remembered.
It’s now 12 years later and I still remember those kindnesses that made me realize that my pain wasn’t forgotten. And while death can be awkward, I encourage you to push past that. It’s okay to ask what happened. Or how the person is feeling. Or if there is something you can do to help. And even better…ask those things a month later. And a year later. And when major life events like weddings or births come around. Because more often than not, it’s just nice to be remembered.
This amazing story was written and submitted by Kjristen. You can find her on Twitter- @Jeerst.
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