Tuna fish on rye, toasted 

There are things people leave behind when they die, things like an article of clothing or a favorite book. But what if the most important thing isn't a thing at all, what if it's a feeling, a sense of purpose, a guiding force that propels you through life - a life with a shattered heart. Or maybe it's a tuna fish sandwich on rye, toasted. Or maybe it’s all of it. 

 My mom loved a lot of things. Things like dark chocolate and high heels. Spritzing Chanel N. 5 and hosting a party. She loved talking on the phone and listening to Frank Sinatra. She loved her friends and family. Her husband and me, her daughter. But she was scared, she was scared to love so hard because she was scared to lose it, to lose me. 

 Many years ago, a wise person gave her the idea to keep a journal, which she addressed to me and I'd like to thank that person, because now I have a "thing" that is so much more than that. It's the time capsule I turn to when I miss her the most. To see her handwriting, to learn about how she met my dad, that you should never show up to someone's house empty handed or to laugh at the fact she would call her sister "Marcus" for reasons no one knows except for her. 

 “I would love to play dress up like you Erica. At the time I was about nine years old I used to pretend that I was Mrs. Kennedy. I would dress up in a mink stole and high heels. I would run around the house dragging Nora calling her Marcus. Don’t ask me why I chose this name of her Nora, but I did” – my mom   

 I can look in the journal when I want to know her favorite songs, how to set a table or that she loved eating tuna fish sandwiches on rye, toasted. But the most important "thing" she left me was the courage she had to keep fighting, when she may have truly felt like giving up. And the love she had even when she was so afraid to lose it. 

 She was so scared to leave her life behind when she knew she had done all she could to fight the breast cancer ravaging her body. She was scared to leave her only daughter. There was so much unknown about how much time she had left, but she just kept going. She kept on loving. She kept on living and eating tuna fish sandwiches until the “thing” that we hated so much, the cancer decided it was time. It was time to give up the things, but she never gave up the love. I still have it, it runs so deep within me that even after 24 years, there is not a day I don't feel it. It is imprinted on my soul, my being. 

So, when I transitioned from motherless daughter to motherless mother two years ago, I not only had a little human to keep alive but had to learn how to be a mom without having my own. I struggle with the thought of near-future me sharing who my mom was – “things” and all - with my daughter. It should be the other way around, I should be sharing my daughter with my mom. But becoming a motherless mother has given me the courage to take my forever-fractured heart and use this new role as a way to connect with my mom in a way to capture her memory to allow my daughter to know about her grandmother.  

 I will share the “things” and the love, the life lessons and the funny stories. That my daughter is named after my mom, and how she may have even inherited the same sense of humor. She will know about Chanel N. 5, the dark chocolate and the high heels. She will know my mom loved connecting people together and that she had a terrible singing voice. She will know about my mother’s passion for making others feel welcome, and her love. A deep, deep love that every child deserves to experience, even if it’s just for ten short years. 

 And she will always know about tuna fish sandwiches on rye, toasted.