Today I planted some flowers in my yard and thought a lot about my mom.
Several people, including myself, have commented how much like my mother I've become in the last four months. I'm now a regular at the gym, and I actually enjoy it. I got a haircut, and it looks a lot like hers used to. I spent several hours in the past two days doing yard work and found it really rather pleasant.
I wish that I could have shared these interests with her a couple of years ago. I wish I'd made the effort to get up and go workout when she was the one teaching it. I wish I'd paid more attention as she shared her knowledge of plants and all their Latin names. I wish that we'd had more time.
It's left me in a strange place, emotionally speaking. I feel more connected to her than I have for awhile, but that in turn opens me up to missing her more and feeling sad about it. I don't know what to call it. Bittersweet, I guess. I suppose I'll just have to take another page out of her play book and see if playing in the dirt is as healing for me as it was for her.