When my mom died my sister was on her first vacation without the kids. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept everything the same.

My sister had gone to the beach for a peaceful yet rambunctious long weekend with her girlfriends. Four busy women got their schedules and sitters to align and declared they deserved a break. They deserved to be the only ones with needs for a few glorious days. I couldn’t have called screaming just as they put their luggage on freshly made hotel beds. 

My sister and I always email pictures of our trips to our mother. We could be finishing up a 14 mile hike at the bottom of the earth and we can’t wait to get wifi and email our mom all about it. She would write back so quickly.

So all I could do was wait by mother’s computer. My mother’s password is her favorite brand of beer with a bunch of zeros after it. I opened up her computer with all the icons much larger than on my computer. And when I saw the email come in, I went to work.

“Oh sweetie, that looks fabulous. Look at that hotel room they gave you! Make sure to take some shampoo for me-you know I love it (its free!)!”

How quickly I embodied her. I went on a hippie retreat once where they told us that when we are in a state of flow, we are aligned with our true Spirit, our essence. I could have forged a hundred permission slips with her signature. I could have opened up a checking account and called the bank in my mother’s voice and kept her alive forever.

I don’t know how you girls (I know I should say women) wear those tiny bikinis. Aren’t you cold in the pool?

With my mom we had so many types of talks. Middle of the night, can’t sleep, talking at the edge of my twin bed. Emergency calls, can you wire me some money? Just calling to say I got home safe. Just calling to say I love you. Silent treatment. I’m thinking of you. You can’t eat so much cholesterol. Can you listen to me for once? I love you, but I don’t always understand.

And these emails. These emails were like the first time I watched my mom hold my nephew, her grandson who was wailing so loud I thought I’d never know silence. And without pause my mom held him tighter and shhhhhhhhhhhhed into his ear, louder than the tears, and never wavering. Letting the baby know that she was here and that he wasn’t alone, swaying back and forth.

“I know you miss the kids dear, I know. They love you and you won’t believe me now, but it really really really is ok to be a part. I promise. Look at your smile in those pictures hunny-you’re glowing. I love you to pieces, my girl.”

– Val Maloof