My mom used to embarrass me all the time.  It drove me crazy.  She over reacted to things, laughed too loud, joked with everyone.  To teenaged me it was mortifying.  Back in those days I subscribed to the concept that it was cool to act cool.  Play everything down, be as low key as possible.  I had the wrong mom for the job at that time.  It was like she couldn’t stop herself.

Now I get it.

My mom had a little kid inside of her.  We all do, of course.  So the cliche goes.  But hers was trying her hardest to bust out.  Break the seams and giggle her way to the surface.  She had an uncontrollable energy that refused to pander to society’s rules of decorum.  She didn’t care who saw her laugh, or act silly, or jump up and down.  Just like a kid.  It was contagious too, this energy of hers. I defy anyone who met her, no matter how briefly, to say otherwise.

And now.  As a mother myself, I believe in reincarnation more than I ever might have.  Inside my eldest son there is a wise, old soul.  And today I believe its hers.  Trying her hardest to shout “I’m right here, right next to you!!!”  Colton talks so much about his mormor.  Asks to wear the necklace of hers I wear everyday.  Asks to have something of hers in his room.  Says he never wants me to go to heaven like mormor did.  But all with a serenity that far surpasses his five short years.  Each time Colton and I exchange glances its like he has known me forever, and I him.  We are simpatico, beyond mother and child.

I keep thinking in my optimism that one year sometime soon, this day will lose its bite.  It never does.  How could it?  You can’t have a life force like my mom for 22 years and then just not and ever be the same.  I wish more people spoke of her to me.  For years I thought it was everyone trying to protect me, trying to avoid the tears that inevitably came.  Now I wonder if people are  forgetting, have forgotten.  Forget to remember.  So I implore those of you who knew her to summon her up today.  It doesn’t take much.  She is, after all, right here.  When I begin to bake later on, she’ll remind me to keep the dough cold and work quickly.  She’ll tell me to use the marble rolling pin, and don’t give up, they can and will be see-through thin.  When I asked Emma who did the gingerbreads in her family (because one sure thing about any Swedish girl worth her salt is that she knows her way around a gingerbread this time of year).  ” Min Mormor.  She thinks its fun.”  As it should be.

I could write about her endlessly.  Maybe I will sometime.  Today, it was enough when Colton ran over to me as I sat helping him get ready this morning, threw his arms around me and gave me a sweet kiss.

“A kiss from mormor” he said, unprovoked.

I know you’re here.


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