Everyday I miss her. I don't talk about her as much as my Dad, simply because I lost her so long ago that my memories of her are part of me. I carry them with me all the time. I know of them, I feel them, and can identify them, I'm just so used to holding them close that I don't verbalize them anymore.
I'm working on changing that. So that Riddick can know more of my mom. Who Dolores was.
She liked Bama mini-Pecan pies
She liked burgerville
She introduced me to strawberry/banana shakes
My mom could make the softest, perfectly round tortillas
She toll painted, and even though she would get behind in the projects after she got ill, she tried so very hard.
When I tried cigarettes in 8th grade, she didn't yell, she just told me how disgusting it was and that it stank.
My mom told me often that I was beautiful. I didn't believe her, but she said it.
She called our pickup truck a "rig" and it used to bug me ;-)
She didn't live long enough to know the Internet, and she never imagined facebook or email, but she would have loved it.
she was proud of me. She wasn't ready to die, and she told me how much she worried that she wouldn't be here to keep me safe.
She hoped for a daughter, but she didn't plan on it, she worried that she was being selfish by adopting two kids, when other people don't have any.
She was tough. But she cried easily. And I kick myself for ever making her feel bad or cry, for ever arguing about clothes and being a rude teenager.
I realize now, that being with her when she died, was a gift. I got to hold her hand and love her as her soul left her body. It was much too early for me and her, she was 42 and I was 16, but I am grateful that I was there to comfort her.
She took a part of me with her to the grave. And I keep a part of her with me. We were not connected by birth, connected by life and love, but she is a part of me and I am a part of her. I used to worry that I would forget her, and now know it was foolish because you can't forget your heart.