There’s several quotes about the number of times you die. Some say it’s twice, some say it’s three times.
I prefer the one that says that we all die 3 times. Once is a physical death. Second is when the last person who remembers us forgets/dies. The third is when anything we create is lost or forgotten.
My Mom died one year ago today. After years of suffering with Alzheimer’s disease, she took her last breath. Her mind had been long gone, but her body was so resilient that it endured for years. Her spirit went back to Heaven on that day.
This past week I’ve thought a lot about my Mom, thought about myself as a Mom and how she was so much better than me in so many ways. One of them was her patience, you guessed it, to put up with me!
There are people that never have that third death. They are remembered in the history books, they left us works of art, in all shapes and forms, they inspired the masses. Many others are immortal for all the wrong reasons.
My Mom was an artist. She was a talented painter. And although there are only a few paintings from her, I hope they will still exist and be a remembrance of her for many years to come.
When she shows up in my dreams, she’s still my Mom. As if time didn’t pass. As if I was still her kid. And then I wake up, and I’m the Mom. Except sometimes, it would be good to still be the kid. To run to her and be cuddled and comforted. To be allowed to be vulnerable and broken. To be weak and flawed… But still loved.
I miss you Mommy. 💔