After three weeks of hospice care, my mother quietly passed away in her own bed, surrounded by friends and family, on my 38th birthday. She never met the youngest of our eight children, much less their future spouses and the great-grandchildren she could have known in a healthier life, with a healthier body.
I’m now the age she was when she died. My heart aches not only for the pain she endured but also for nineteen years’ worth of memories she’s missed.
I’m determined not to take these days for granted. Life is a gift. And so I’m dedicating this year to my mother, to living my best year — our best year — and doing all the things she could have done if she’d been healthier or if she were still here with us.
Please join me at (in)courage to read the rest of the article about how I’ll honor my mother’s memory this year.
