25 Years Later

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This is a picture of my mom on her wedding day in 1971. I think she looks pretty happy, considering she’s about to bag the biggest nerd she could wrangle up while attending the University of Washington. She was 21 when she married my dad. By 1982, she was 31 years old and had earned an MBA, Juris Doctorate, and given birth to two boys. A little less than ten years later she was dead at 41 years old.

Today, March 29th, 2018 marks 25 years to the day since I watched my momget taken away on a gurney, and although I’ve filled the years since with wonderful memories and people, I would trade any of my very best days for just five more minutes with her. I want so desperately to tell her about my life. To talk to her about… anything. To ask, and to listen. To say goodbye.

While my mom was in remission from her first bout with breast cancer I was still pretty young, so I didn’t really understand why my mom started spending more time with me afterwards. In the remaining years of her life, before her cancer regressed, she went to great lengths to make memories with me that I could hold on to for the rest of my life and look back on. I was really lucky in that sense; my mom could sense her own mortality and was able to slow down and focus on using her remaining time with purpose. Many people never get that chance.

I’m writing this today as a gentle reminder to everyone on her behalf. You never know when your charted path will abruptly change course, or who may come and go along the way, whether you like it or not. Please slow down every once in awhile, and please try not to take things for granted as you hurry through life. Tell people you love them. Be thankful for new suns and swift moons. Make memories. Today.

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