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My mother used to sing this song and teach it to her music students.

I still miss her 11 years after she’s been gone.

She also taught her students “Light My Fire” by the Doors.
If that isn’t cool, I don’t know what is.

Funny story to add to this: I know a guy who loves torch music as much as I do although by looking at him you wouldn’t know. He’s always in overalls drinking a Bud and we take much heat when we commandeer a juke box. (We play it when it’s not being played as we don’t want to upset the 3,489th playing of Kid Rock’s Picture song that makes me stabby but that I listen to anyway. I can’t wait for the day that we have a torch music/Skynard music off, which I would enjoy as well.) Someone said to Squirrel Queen Friday night that we shouldn’t be playing this kind of music in a Nascar Bar. I don’t know who said it but it made me laugh.

Nope.
It’s the exact place we need to play it because it’s where we can enjoy it together.

My mom would approve. Folks said the same thing to her when she was drilling our brain with the difference between Mozart and Beethoven.

If you didn’t notice, I miss her more than words can say.

There is always a time around Mother’s Day that Homer and I hit what I tend to call “the angries.”

It comes out of nowhere and is always a surprise. One of us, either her or myself, will recognize that we are pissed off collectively because there is no mother here.

And on another note, something you may not know, is Homer was born on Mother’s Day. This year, her birthday is Monday but youngest niece Bear’s is tomorrow.

I may be wrong but I think Mother’s Day is especially hard for Homer. More so because they had that bond of Homer being the Mother’s Day Blessing for my mother. Thinking about it makes me choke up a little bit. It was what my mother always said about my little sis and it was more than true.

We find ourselves on edge, reacting far more emotionally than we usually do. For those of you who haven’t lost your mom, it’s hard to describe how things creep up on you. Recently, I ate my Mom’s recommendation for comfort food.

I was tired, drowning under an increased workpile, feeling like I’m never going to get it all together, not enough time, trying to decide if I’m going to move forward in a blogging project I’m working on, alternating between fear and an in depth mania to sustain a schedule that I know will be difficult to keep at such a breakneck speed, and I needed to unwind and not feel anything for awhile.

I made my comfort food that she always made me when I was a kid and I was hit with a wave of grief that I cannot explain. I felt if I was drowning in my own soul missing her more than I could ever explain. There is no medication you can take for loss, no quick fix, if you will.

Ten years ago February, my mother died after a hard fight with cancer. Ten years ago Monday, Homer turned 30. Ten years ago, we could barely remember to breath. Ten years ago, we lost our best friend.

I am not alone but I find that only other people who have lost their mothers understand the black hole that we stare in during Mother’s Day. We have to find within ourselves that place where we can focus on the beauty of our relationships with our moms that molded us.

But some of us hit the angries. And when we get there, it’s always startling. It’s most surprising because we think we are over it.

You never get over it.

Never.