A Mother’s Goodbye

A Mother’s Good-bye

To Maasai,

We have heard so much about your accomplishments and your talents. How bright your light shined over the years whether at the school spelling bee, writing contest or the floor on the rings, bars, or pummell horse, or the lyrics for the many unfinished songs you composed. The beautiful music on the piano or even beatboxing with your brother and cousins. Your attention to drawings and creative arts and the different stick figures, anime, and clay work you molded. Your friends and families stories of your escapades and talents, and teachers, professors, and coach’s praises can fill a book. There was something special about you that touched the lives of many. Your amazing sense of humor, your whit, your laugh, your smile, and your strength will always be remembered.

How I long for those days of the misplaced sweater, shoes, jackets, retainers, wallets, phones, or glasses. The rooms that were left a mess with hot chocolate stains on desks and empty plates left with chicken bones and used napkins on dressers, under the bed or on the floor. The days when you forgot dentist appointments or the day when you told the guy at the dealership do “everything” for servicing my car. The hours I kept you and your brother occupied cleaning out the kitchen or house instead of the 30 minutes as promised.

You came into my life when I was unprepared and naive. Rocking you in the chair as a child I was amazed at the beauty of you and counting your 10 little toes and fingers. In adolescence I marveled at the muscles and six pack you managed to build over the countless hours of training. I miss the massages I gave after every tournament or the salt baths that were drawn to help with aching muscles. The long hours of shuttling you back and forth to school and activities and later as I flew coast to coast to visit you in college. What at one time were supervised play dates with countless friends, turned into late night runs and hangouts with school buddies and your endless circle of acquaintances. The night you scaled the drainpipe and fence to knock on my window at 2 in the morning because I told you I would double lock the front door if you stayed out after midnight. The days when I go through the wash and not only find IDs and bills but the lighter. And my resistance to yell upstairs to come down to have “the conversation.” How I wish to rewind the days of worry, frustration, and the unkempt rooms and dirty laundry. At high school graduation I knew that for the most part my job was almost complete. You chose me as your mother and was sent for me to raise, nurture, and send off into the world. Today, and everyday I carry your memory in my heart, your laughs, your smiles, and your imperfections has taken me on a journey I will never forget. I love you Maasai Jones, and will always be

Your loving Mother