I’ve been alive for 22 years.  8282 Days.  198790 Hours.  11927434 minutes.  715646103 seconds.  A while now.  And out of every breath and heartbeat I can still think of my most favorite moment. 

It was way back in the day J, I was about nine years old, still living in my hometown Medicine Hat.  And to make a long story short I’d had a horrible weekend away in Calgary.  Gone from my home, filled with arguments and several bouts of tears.  I’d spent hours begging, pleading, groaning with my Mum to come save me.  But, she’d insisted I could handle it, and we’d talk about it when I got home.

Coming home I had the quivery lip, you know that one that shakes no matter how hard you bite it?  That one.  And red-rimmed eyes, and a sore heart.  I met my Mum on our driveway and clung to a hug of exasperated exhaustion, walking around arm in arm to our backyard I stumbled blindly onto friend after friend screaming ‘Surprise’.  My Mum had organized a Feel Good party.  She’d gathered each of my friends, rented a Trampoline (so, the rage) hung balloons, ordered pizza, and best of all had everyone write their own cards as to why we were friends, what they liked best about me.  It was one of those afternoons where you think your heart just can’t fill anymore up, it’s right up to the brim with happiness and love and laughter and everything that makes childhood perfect. 

That was the kind of Mum she was.  Out of the ordinary, unique, original.  Always finding new and old, big and small ways to show me how much she loved me.  Of course we had our stumbles, and things weren’t always easy, but to this day I have never and will never doubt all the love we had for each other.

She passed away three years ago, and finally this April on the Anniversary (April 6th) we stood on a pier and said one more goodbye.  Sometimes the sadness of it all can still sit in my throat, or right in the lowest deepest part of my gut, or the worst; in the direct center of my heart.  But once I swallow it.  Once I let it beat through, I know how lucky I am to have even just one more breath with all those I love still here.  How everytime I hug my Aunty Pam, laugh with Layne, call Karla, think of Morgan, visit Marwa I do it with just a little extra oomp.  I know that hugs and laughs and phone calls are a gift, and one more days is glorious.  So if you’ve scrolled through and read this all, I hope you go call someone you love, hug just that second longer, laugh just that little bit louder.  In the end who you love and how you loved them really seems to be the only thing that matters.

  Ps.  Note: There is Grafitti pictured there, and though some may condemn it, it was small, tasteful, and on a part of the small pier that you can’t see until up close.  I felt justified in that I wasn’t just spraying another profanity on there, but that it was a little dedication to the most amazing woman I think this world may have ever seen.