Imperfectly Perfect

  I had every intention of sleeping in today.
  It's Mother's Day, and last night Nate told me he and his siblings are going to make breakfast for me.
  I told him that sounded great, but please, could they let me sleep in, too? :)
  He was more than happy to hear the part about sleeping in. My children are not early risers. Well, except for Alex. 
  So the plan was....breakfast at 9:30. 
  Of course, I woke up at 6:45 and couldn't go back to sleep.
  


  I woke up thinking of my mom. Makes sense being Mother's Day and all.
  Seven years ago on a Sunday morning in late March, I woke up to the phone ringing.
  Turns out it was one of my mom's neighbors. The neighbors were worried about my mom because her car was in her driveway. Her newspaper was on her porch. Mail was in the mailbox, but they couldn't get her to answer the door or the phone. They were hoping against hope that she was visiting one of my siblings or me in Bountiful.


 Panicked, I told him, "No, she isn't here." A cold wave of dread washed over my body. This neighbor and his family had a key to my mom's house and he asked if it was all right if they used the key to go inside and check on her.


  "Oh, yes. Please, please do," I told him.


  Then he replied, "I am going to call the police and have them go in with me."


  As soon as I hung up the phone, I punched in my mom's number. It rang and rang. No answer. I punched in her cell phone number. "Please, please, please answer," I whispered. But it just went to her voicemail.


  I called my sister and tearfully told her what was going on. Then I sat and waited. It seemed like an eternity until the phone rang again. A Brigham City policeman identified himself...and the minute he did, I knew my mom was gone. I remember him telling me he was so sorry to have to tell me that my mother had passed away.


  I can remember right where I was standing in my family room as he told me this. I can also remember my knees buckling underneath me and Derek catching me before I hit the floor. He stood next to me and held me close throughout the phone call. The rest of what the policeman said to me isn't as clear. He had all kinds of questions. Things like my mom's birthdate, my address, what funeral home we wanted to use. Somehow I managed to reply to all these things...but felt like someone else was saying the words that came out of my mouth.


  I've never cried as hard as I did that day and in the days that followed. Losing my mom was such a shock, even though she did had been battling some serious health issues. I had talked to her just a couple of days before. Usually we talked at least every other day if not every day.


  Suddenly, she was gone...and I didn't get to say goodbye. Seven years later, that's still one of the things that bothers me most. Not being able to say goodbye.


  The last time I saw her, which was just a week before her death, I didn't know it would be the last time. I hugged her and told her goodbye. How I still wish that I could go back and hug her just a little tighter. Look into her eyes and tell her how much I love her. I hope she knows. We were always very close and she played a huge role in my life. There's been an empty spot in my heart ever since she died. Once a dear friend told me that spot will always be empty because she is the only one who can fill it. And yes, I do believe she will fill it again one day. I do believe that after this life, I will see her again.
   Until then, though, I really miss her.
  My mom was not perfect. She wasn't a gourmet cook. Her housekeeping skills left a lot to be desired. 
  But she was the perfect mom for me. She loved me no matter what. I always knew she was on my side. She always had a listening ear, a warm, enveloping hug and a hearty laugh whenever she was around.
  She put up with all kinds of teasing from me and my siblings.
  She didn't do everything right, but she definitely did one thing right.
  She loved me.
  She was the imperfectly perfect mom.
  I miss her every day.
  Especially today.
  On the night of her death, after spending the day with my siblings making funeral arrangements and trying to come to grips with everything we had been through that day, I lay on my living room couch crying.
  The pain I felt was almost unbearable. I didn't think I would ever feel better.
  One thing concerned me so much at the moment.
  "I hope I was a good daughter to her," I told Derek through my tears.
  I still hope that. Sometimes I wish for just one more day. One more moment....to make sure that I truly was as good of a daughter to her as she was a mom to me.
  I love you, Mom.