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I also told him of our traditions. With few exceptions, we had coffee at Mom’s house on Monday mornings and lunch at
Hometown Buffet (same table) on Wednesdays.
He understood all of this, and
emptiness that goes along with it. He said he, also, still had times when he thought as if his mom had not passed, and then he came back to reality.
As we talked, I repeatedly thought, “I know how he feels. He knows how I feel.” Twenty-five years difference in age didn’t matter. What mattered were a shared experience and its benefits.
Sadly, we can’t bring our moms back. But, we can go on as better people. Individuals with greater understanding for
suffering and loss of others and a deeper appreciation for
lives of those we see daily. Especially should this be true regarding our loved ones.
Dad’s death several years ago hurt, but was expected. He’d been terminally ill as a COPD patient for so long. Mom, though, was not supposed to die so soon. Yet, such could be said of many others we’ve all known.
Though I’m comforted in
spiritual convictions Mom and I shared, and that she and Dad instilled in me, I also take consolation in
countless pleasant hours we spent together.
BARBER-OSOPHY: When it comes time for loved ones to be separated by death, no one ever says, “I sure wish we had spent less time together.”

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