My mom died 17 years ago today. I know I have men­tioned this on my blogs before at this time of year. What I did not men­tion was how, on that night, my son Sher­man stood by my side.

I got the call at about 2 in the morn­ing that mom had died. I had been antic­i­pat­ing such a call as we had stopped all unnec­es­sary means to keep her alive a few days before. Hav­ing waited around the clock and her seem­ingly not any dif­fer­ent, I had gone home to rest and try to sleep before return­ing in the morn­ing. It still came as a shock that she had died. Not quite know­ing what to do and know­ing that I didn’t want to deal with this on my own, I woke my son Sher­man and asked him to go with me. Con­cerned for me, and sad that his grand­mother had died, he went, hold­ing my hand as I drove.

When we got to the nurs­ing home, I had to go thru the tech­ni­cal­ity of iden­ti­fy­ing my mom and I chose to do this alone. First so Sherm would not have to see his grand­mother that way, and sec­ond, to take a moment to say good-bye. Sherm waited patiently in the hall, and when I came out, hugged me and stood with his arm around me as we waited for the funeral home to come to take her away. It was a really long night as she was going to be buried at a ceme­tery an hour and half away, so wait­ing for them to come seemed for­ever. But there we waited. He and I. Him bring­ing me cof­fee, talk­ing about his mem­o­ries of his grandma. Me not know­ing how to feel.

We made it thru that night and the funeral the day after Christ­mas, and years have passed. I still turn my head on occa­sion when I see some­one that looks remark­ably like I think she would look today, and it gives me pause. I will never for­get the day my mom died.

And I will never, ever, for­get how my son stood by my side.

I hope he knows it meant the absolute world to me.