I remember clearly the last time I talked to my mom. I was driving home home from my night class at Michigan State. It was an hour-long drive from 9:30 – 10:30 and we had officially made it our weekly phone time. I pulled out of the parking lot outside of Erickson Hall and dialed her number. She had just bought a new puppy for my little brothers and we spent most of the drive talking about how she was going to train him, Miller, the black lab. Turning onto US-23 heading into Ann Arbor, we began talking about her sending me pictures of the dog using the digital camera I had bought her and Craig for Christmas. She was telling me that she didn’t know how to use it on the computer and she didn’t think she would be able to. I told her the easy fix: get out the box with all the cords and sit in front of the computer and play around with it. Something would happen. I began telling her things that might help her take pictures and get them off of the camera for the next twenty minutes.
Right before my exit, she asked, “Why do you always push so hard? Techie stuff isn’t as easy for everyone, you know.”
“Because I love you and know that if someone doesn’t push you, you will never do it. I know I nag but I see you getting stagnant and it hurts me,” I replied.
“Oh, nagging out of love. Nicely played. I will have to use that with Craig.”
“Go for it. Alright, here’s my exit. Call you next week?”
“It’s a date. Love you, Strubble.”
“Love you, Mom.”
Click.
There wouldn’t be a next week. It turns out that I would call her as paramedics were leaving the house. I wouldn’t know until a little after midnight.
When you lose a parent, there’s so many emotions to work through, particularly when situations are as convoluted as my family’s. I remember this conversation, I remember telling my mother I loved her. I’m thankful for that; it’s a small grace that helps me get through Mother’s Day a little easier.
