"Have I told her?"

“Did I tell you?  Did I tell you all that I meant to tell you, all that I felt was important.   Did I tell you or was it lost in the shuffle of our everyday lives.  The busy full days when we taught and didn’t know it.  What did we teach?  Was it strong?  Was it good?  Will it root you in something real that will allow you to grow with a firm and sound foundation?  Did I tell you…” 

–excerpt from Did I tell you? By Elizabeth Knapp

I was fourteen years old when my mom gave me this treasured gift on Christmas.  From college, back home, to various apartments, the book has always been unpacked and gently placed on my bookshelf.  I love reading the last page because the author says if I did tell you “I am humbly grateful” and I always think to myself, ‘I do love this book, but I didn’t need the book to tell me, my mom told me every word of every page each and everyday.’  I am grateful to call her mom.

Tomorrow is my phenomenal mother’s birthday, her first birthday without my dad.  Usually my mom is an easy person to shop for as clothes, jewelry, and household items seem to shout her name as you walk by.  Not this year.  This year the gift has to be perfect.   It has to somehow help ease the hollow void that is inevitable without my dad arriving home with beautiful flowers, a kiss, and an “I love you.”  Deep down I know that no “thing” will do this, yet I have remained determined to find it.  Tonight, I sit here without a tangible gift for tomorrow, yet I feel relieved that I know what to give her.   The past, almost eight months, I have wondered, “Have I told her?”

“Have I told her,” that her and dad’s love was the kind of love that fairytales were made of.  That their love created a home full of laughter and happiness for anyone who visited, but most importantly for us kids.   That they exemplified what it means to be married and head-over heels in love.

“Have I told her,” that she is the mother of all mother’s.  That I wish that all children could have her to call  'mom.'    How much I admire her decision to stay home and raise Kristin and Brian and I and any other cousin or friend that needed a place to be.  That I know she took on the hardest role in the world-that of a stay at home mom.  That I have always wanted to be just like her; the woman capable of doing it all with ease and grace

“Have I told her,” that she is my best friend?  The person I always need by my side.  Whose advice holds more weight than any other person in the world and whose insight is so profound.  That she is my strength and my light in this life.

“Have I told her,” that she is the strongest person I know?  That she suffered the most unimaginable loss, my dad, and yet it has been her that has comforted everyone else.  That no one would fault her for falling apart at the seams?  That her ability to take each day as it is, to grieve openly and honestly, to cry and to laugh, to tell stories… it is inspirational.  That she is the reason that we are all as ‘okay’ as we can be.  That if I can be half the woman that she is, I will have succeeded in this life.

 

 “Have I told her,” that it is my turn?  My turn to be the strong one.  My turn to make sure that everything is okay.  My turn to listen and be her shoulder?. My turn to say “you need to surrender and sleep.”

"Have I told her," that I am sorry?  That I am sorry that her life got turned upside down in an instant.  That I am sorry that such a fundamental part of her identity has been taken away.  That I am sorry that she is alone at night.  That I can't begin to imagine how she is finding the strength to look forward when the pain is so deep.  I am sorry.

“Have I told her,” that I know our lives will never be the same, but that it is because of her that I know we will find our way.

“Have I told her,” everything that a daughter should tell their mother, especially a mother as remarkable as mine?  “Have I told her????”