Today is not a date of particular importance in my Mom’s life except that it lies in the small time frame between her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Last week was her birthday and next week marks 23 years since we lost her, just a couple weeks after she turned 66. I now have two sisters that are older than Mom ever was. Even after all these years, I am still occasionally overtaken by a sense of missing her. Most of the time, I remember her and laugh, because rarely was there a person with such a zest for life. 

I have been struggling to bring a specific memory to life in my head to share, since I have written about every one that I can think of. Perhaps there are some out there that didn’t know that Mom taught the altar boys of St. Joan of Arc for years. Being the precocious little person that I was, I asked her why a girl taught the alter boys, when a girl wasn’t allowed to be an alter boy. As I think back on those days, I’m not sure that I actually wanted to be an alter boy as much as I didn’t like being told that I couldn’t be an alter boy. I’m glad that St. Joan has since rectified that great wrong against females, so now parents everywhere can make ALL their kids suffer through alter training and drag them out of bed bright and early on Sunday mornings to serve at mass.

Mom (and I suspect Dad, but mostly Mom) had some vague rules. We couldn’t ride our bikes in the street until we were 11. At the time, that seemed like a great injustice, since all our friends were riding in the street years before that, at least while cycling in the relative safety of the Meadows. The Weizeorick kids would keep up with their friends while riding on the sidewalk, which was definitely less safe for all those who tried to use the sidewalk. I had perfected the two step street cross, since I had to “walk” my bike across streets. I leaned my bike to the right to counterbalance my weight as I swung my body off the left side of the bike and crossed a street in two steps with barely a break in my speed. Was I looking for oncoming cars from any direction? Definitely not. I had to perfect the motion to make it as seamless as possible. I approached streets concentrating on my form to cross as quickly as I could while still obeying the letter of the law. It had to be considered walking if each foot hit the blacktop at least once before flying back on the bike as I got to the sidewalk on the other side. 

But I digress. We were a handful, and Mom managed to keep us mostly in line. When I think about Mom, I love to think about her telling a story, because Mom told a story with her whole body. She didn’t just use her hands. In fact, her hands gestured tight to her body, so she occasionally had to jump to make a point. She would shift and shuffle as she became more animated. I actually think I do this too, but it’s hard to tell since I can’t see myself while telling a story. 

So, share a story about my Mom if you have one. I feel like I am losing the specifics, even though I remember her as a whole. Or share a story about a lost loved one that brings a smile to your face. If there is one thing I learned from Mom, it’s that we need to smile, laugh, and enjoy life. I picked a picture of my parents dancing at my wedding, because my parents could dance!