Every year I go to church on New Year’s Eve, it is a tradition in my family. Out of the 50 plus years I have been in attendance at New Years Eve Services, I am only haunted by one.

There was not one minute in the days leading up to this New Years Eve that I did not think of you and since wish for one more conversation with you.

I am your child, adult as I may be, when the doctors tell you that your Mom is terminally ill you both hear it and not hear it all at the same time.  I knew you were tired.  I considered briefly that this would be your last year with us but I had not considered that we would not have any more conversations.

I rushed home Mommy, to tell you all about the service and never once did I imagine you would not be awaiting my arrival.  I was meant with a note that informed me you had been taken to the local hospital.

I rushed to the hospital.  I found you in a coma and they were not sure you would wake up again or even be the same if you did.  I should have stayed home and bought in 2012 with you; I should have been there.  We could have had a great conversation.  I could have gotten in a few last questions that only occurred to me as I stood by your grave.  I could have told you about a few last secrets I had kept from you as a teen and we could have laughed out loud about my adventures.  But I was at church…

Instead, I sat next to your bed and I talked to you while you rested, while you slept, while you were in your coma.  Mommy, I am sorry I did not opt for a conversation with you on that New Years Eve.  God would have understood.  I often wonder if you would have preferred for me to stay home or if you saw me as selfish for continuing a tradition that night?

I have had a number of one-sided conversations with you about that New Years Eve of 2011 and I always come back to this – you know your children and you know me.  Then I remember, you are my mother and your love for me crosses through time and space.  I was where you taught me to be.

My definition for conversation has expanded since your physical absence. In the expansion of my definition, I have had sweet talks with you-Conversations!

Happy New Year Mommy (Always loving you),



To the reader, my mother would come home to die in Hospice Care on January 17, 2012, but she would never be well enough to have a Conversation.

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