This was originally posted shortly after my mom’s passing in 2017. Since it is nine years ago today, and I am thinking about her, I thought I’d repost.

I haven’t posted for a while because my mom was in and out of the hospital over the last month, and on January 16, 2017 she peacefully passed away—free at last from many years of struggle with her health.

In her hospital room, I sat with her through the night. Watched her fade. Heard her final breath.

It is strange how we create routines out of the obligations of life. A pattern shaped by necessity, reluctantly overlaid. In January 2009, my father died, and my mom asked me to come see her more often. At first it was every other week. Somewhere along the way it became a weekly visit.

Usually on a Saturday, I’d be up by 6 a.m. and on my way—the two-hour drive a quiet, pleasant meditation through lovely Ontario countryside. A stop for coffee. Sometimes a pause for a walk on a trail.

I’d stop at the grocery store along the way and get what was needed, and arrive at my mom’s place usually before 9 a.m. We would have breakfast, discuss what was new and the news, make a to-do list of what needed doing: check the sump pump, change filters, light bulbs, garden, lawn—whatever. Somewhere in there the PSW would arrive and help my mom with her personal care.

Then my mom and I would have lunch, and we’d cook something extra for the fridge and freezer. Sometimes we would bake—tea biscuits, cake, cookies—so my mom would have goodies to offer her many guests through the week. Her local church community was simply amazing in how they took turns visiting her each evening.

Sometimes I’d stay for dinner, but usually by 4 p.m. I’d be heading back on the trek the other way, to my own home. Back to my own to-do list, waiting for me.

Yes, there were times I felt trapped by the pattern of obligation. Times I felt too tired, too overwhelmed…

And still I would go—maybe shifting the visit to a Monday. Take the day off work, and enjoy the peaceful drive into a more rural world.

I am not writing this to grumble or brag. I did what I did because I was available, and I could. It was my choice.

I am writing this because it became such a part of my life that today—this morning, in this here and now of quiet reflection—I realize and feel the empty space that is here and now. It feels odd not planning a shopping list, gathering the tools to bring, creating a menu, finding a recipe…

I am writing not to say what I did, but to say how much doing it is missed. There is a hole in my world. I miss you mom.