I don’t know how my mom was raised. I don’t know what my Nana did or didn't do for breakfast each morning, to judge whether or not my mom got it right. I don’t even remember what my friends said their moms did or didn't do for them. I do remember going to dog shows and sitting down to be covered with a blanket of puppies. I remember road trips, and visiting her friends’ houses. I especially remember a day when we had a “picnic” in her bedroom with McDonald’s food and Dumbo on TV. I don’t know if any other mom in the whole wide world did that with their kiddos but it was very special with my mom.
I should also remember, that I fiercely love(d) my mom. She was not perfect, she was fighting her own demons, but that did not matter to me. It didn’t matter until the end when she was so sick. I didn’t “see” it for a long time. I didn’t want to see it because I only wanted her and I’ve always only wanted her to be happy and feel good. Wouldn’t Tripp want his mommy to be happy and feel good, too