The Perfect Fan Whom I Dearly Miss

Back when I was in college, I watched a movie with my roommates and my cousin.  In the movie someone that the main character grows to care about dies from cancer.  Towards the end of the movie, after everyone else had mostly finished crying, one of my roommates looked at me and said, "If must be so hard for you.  I don't know how you do it."

I knew what she was referring to, and I knew that she wasn't trying to be rude or insensitive.  The truth is, I didn't know how I did it either. 

Today was hard.  Seven years ago I was celebrating my mom's 56th birthday with my family.  It was at a park, if I remember correctly.  Or maybe that was another year, I don't know. It's hard to remember sometimes.

I worry about that. Forgetting, I mean.  To tell you the truth I am afraid of forgetting.  Afraid of forgetting my mom.  Afraid of forgetting the important things.

But there are some things I do remember.  I remember the sound of her laugh.  How her face looked when she just couldn't hold it in anymore. A smile that reached ear to ear, eyes that lit up.  I always knew that she was happy at that moment.

I remember sitting on the porch during rain storms and watching the lightning, listening to the thunder.  She would talk about how she used to wait for the lightning and thunder as a child, and when it came she would hide under the bed and laugh.  I remember camping, hiking, outings to the park.

I remember always seeing her in the audience whenever there was a concert, play, or other kind of performane or special event.  I remember going with her to cub scouts, all of the service she did for those boys.  I remember her as the Primary President of Wells Ward.

I remember her waiting up with my dad whenever I went out, whether on a date or with friends.  I remember summer days swimming in the pool.  I remember her pulling weeds in the garden she loved so much.  I remember driving with her to pick up my dad from work.

I remember listening to her read to us as we got ready for bed, The Wizard of Oz especially.  I remember all of the things she made.  Crocheted bears, doll dresses, hats.

I remember a phone call on my 20th birthday, the only birthday salutation that I really got that year.  I was sitting in my apartment alone, no friends to celebrate with, no cake or presents.  That was the first time in my life that I didn't do something for my birthday.  I felt awful. 

She felt so bad that she hadn't called first thing that morning, or earlier in the day at least.  "It's okay," I had told her.  "It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," she assured me.  "The day you were born is important."

I cried, but didn't let her know.

After she died I dreamed about her.  Just simple things, like a conversation about nothing in particular.  One dream was so vivid I could actually recall what she smelled like.

People tell me how much they admire my strength and ability to cope with losing my mom at such a young age.  The truth is, I'm not any stronger than the next person.  And some days, like today, I miss her so much that the pain I felt the night she died comes flooding back.  It never really goes away, we just learn how to accept it and move on with our day.

Sometimes it hurts, so much.  It hurts that I can't talk to her like I used to.  That I can't see her when I talk to her.  It hurts not being able to pick up the phone and hear her voice on the other line.  I was sick last week, and all I could think about was how much I just wanted my mom.

But that's the beauty of the gospel.  Because of a merciful God, there was a plan put into action that would allow us to not only be redeemed from mistakes that we make,  but it also enables us to see our loved ones again.  Because of Jesus Christ, all mankind can and will be resurrected.  Because of Him, I'll see my mom again.

My mom was an amazing woman.  She wasn't perfect, as none of us are, but she was the best mom that I could ever hope to have in my life.  She was the kindest, most warm-hearted, selfless, happiest person, and I am so grateful for the 20 years that I was blessed to have her in my life for.

Sometimes, I worry that I'm disappointing her.  I worry that the choices I am making in my life make her sad.  I worry that my job, or my grades, my lack of a love life, or even where I am spiritually will somehow never measure up to all that she hopes for me.  But then I remember her love, and I can feel her reaching out to me to remind me that whatever I do, I am hers and she loves me dearly.

To my mother, Janette Marie Curtis Featherstone, I want to say thank you.  Thank you for your love and support.  You are me biggest fan, always have been.  I am and forever will be proud to call you my mother.

Happy Birthday, Mom.  I LOVE YOU!!!