I’m writing with a heavy heart to let you know that my mom passed away yesterday morning. My dad was by her side, holding her hand.
How do I feel? Pretty numb. It’s hard to believe that I’m not going to see her again in a month or two. I mean, she’s my mom. She’s always been there. She should always be there.
I’m glad she’s not suffering any more, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t devastated that she never got to meet my little girl.
And it kills me that I wasn’t able to be by her side in her final days. Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have imagined that I wouldn’t be with her. But my dad said that she was ready and not scared, so I will have to take comfort in that.
To the very last, she kept her sense of humor. The other day she told my aunt that she wanted us to throw a fucking-ass great party. Only she transposed it and accidentally said “an ass-fucking party.”
My mom was many things: go-getter, cat lover, collector of tsotchkes, wife, mother, daughter, sister, potty mouth, pedicure enthusiast, sincere, perpetually right, girly-girl, straight shooter, loyal as they come, beautiful, honest, computer genius, skier, heath nut, partier, lover of bad chardonnay, the best dressed woman on the east coast, full of life, an open book, a fighter, my biggest fan.
You can’t quantify a life, of course. But all of that adds up to one seriously amazing person. And a life well lived.
So what do we do now? We do the only thing we can do. Throw an ass-fucking great party. And celebrate her very wonderful life.