Remembering Momma

Helen Irene Dorsey Arp

1924-2002

Eight years ago today, I woke up and began preparing for my mother's funeral.

Eight years ago today, I was immobilized by grief.

I can still remember how I felt that morning, it's almost like it was just moments ago.

I still remember putting on my dress, and trying to put on makeup through tears.

I remember seeing relatives that I'd not seen in years, and realizing how bittersweet it was to see them under these circumstances.

I remember feeling terribly alone, despite being surrounded by people.

I remember the ride to the cemetery.

I remember the lump in my throat.

I remember the humidity.

I remember feeling the grass crunching under my feet in the hot Missouri sun.

I remember hearing the locusts.

I remember seeing my mother.

I remember the smell of the Stargazer lilies on the coffin.

I remember seeing her two remaining sisters, that join her in heaven now, weeping over her.

I remember after the funeral, hearing my relatives talking, and the forks hitting the plates as they ate, as I lay in the bedroom wondering how life would go on.

Today - eight years from that day -

I remember my mother's laugh.

I remember my mother's hands.

I remember how hard my mother worked.

I remember my mother's stubbornness.

I remember my mother's devotion to her family.

I remember my mother ironing our pajamas, and mopping the floor while Conway Twitty played in the background.

I remember my mom watching Hee Haw and the Carol Burnett show and watching her get so tickled.

I remember my mom mothering all the neighborhood kids.

I remember my mom's garden being the prettiest on the block.

I remember my mom cooking dinner every single night.

I remember.

I remember not to take anything for granted.

I remember to work hard for the things you want.

I remember to be stubborn when it's needed.

I remember to love.

I remember to laugh.

I remember.