It has now been 5 years since the fabulous Pamela Whitby Strong lost her life to that murderous s.o.b. - cancer. She died when Canon (my eldest son) was 5 months old. I have photos with the two of them together. It seems like an eternity ago, yet sometimes only yesterday.
We have a ritual of remembrance which we observe twice a year. Once on her birthday, November 18 (1946) and once on June 21st, the anniversary of the dark day of her death. We dine at the Cheescake factory. Mmmmm.
In the spirit of the Passover Sederists who set out a special goblet to be filled with wine for the prophet Elijah, we order a Cosmopolitan and set it at the end of the table. I don't drink the cosmo because I don't like to drink liquid fire with a cranberry twist. But we take a tiny taste and giggle, wondering what she ever saw in that beverage beside fact that Oprah introduced it to her.
We order anything we want for the main course, but when it comes to dessert, the white-chocolate rasberry truffle cheesecake is a must. Mom and I used to split it. Unfortunately I will never branch out to a new dessert at the Cheesecake Factory, for that would feel like betrayal.
Sometimes, I bring pictures which jog memories of cherished days gone by. Sometimes others join us, particularly if they miss her too.
I grieve for you Mom. My heart aches for you. I miss you so much. I can't believe you were stolen from me - my children have been robbed of a relationship with you. There is a hole in my life that will never be filled.
You made me who I am today - well, the good parts anyway. I am grateful for the 30 years I had with you. Please come visit me in my dreams.
1 comment:
so i was catching up on your blogs and wow. not ready for that one. had a little breakdown myself. love you.
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