What About Me?

After I finished writing about my dad and his "Daggummit" expression, I started thinking about my mom.

Wait, that's not entirely true.

I could almost hear her saying, "You wrote something about your dad. What about me?"

That sounds like her. Half joking, but partly serious.

My mom has been gone for a couple of years now, but the funny thing about losing someone is that their voice doesn't disappear. It's always close. Every now and then, something happens, and you know exactly what they would've said before you even think about it yourself.

I guess this was one of those moments.

Fair enough, Mom. This one's for you.

Mom was one of the most creative people I've ever known. She sewed, painted, made wood signs, decorated seashells, wrote stories, and somehow always had another project waiting. Whatever she was working on, she got excited about it. It didn't matter whether it was something big or something small. For a while, it became the most interesting thing in the world.

The funny part was that my dad usually got recruited somewhere along the way.

A project that started as her idea somehow became his project too. Building something. Painting something. Fixing something. It didn't seem to matter. Before long, Dad was involved. Looking back, I don't think he minded. They made a pretty good team.

Lately, while writing the articles for The Picket Board, I've caught myself wondering how much she would've enjoyed all of this. The birdhouses. The writing. The planning. It was right up her alley. She would've painted birdhouses, had opinions about every color, and probably come up with three more ideas before the first one was finished.

A birdhouse waiting on the table. Paint brushes scattered around. Mom talking about the next project or the next story to share, while Dad quietly realized he'd probably be helping before the day was over.

And now I can almost hear her,

"That was so nice of you to think of me."

Even though I'm pretty sure she was the one who talked me into it.

Love ya Mom