Appreciate What You Have While You Have It

I remember the phone ringing early in the morning. A different ring for some reason, one that made you automatically sit up and wait for the bad news. The next sound was the room door. Then footsteps coming up the steps.

It was mid-January 1986 and I was visiting my aunt in Ohio. My senior year, flying high and trying to figure out my next move. I was on top of the world, nothing could bring me down--or so I thought. That ringing phone, creaking door, and footsteps changed my life forever.

The light came on and my aunt was by my side telling me she had bad news. I didn't have to ask what, I knew and I wanted to go home before it was to late. That's the last thing I remember. Before it's to late. I have no idea where that knowledge came from, whether it was the differnt ring of the phone, something in my subconscience, or some devine being preparing me for the worst. Some how and from some where, I gathered up the strength to pack my suitcase, make a call to have someone meet me at the airport and take me to where I needed to be the place I should have been.

I left my aunt, uncle in cousins on the first plane out of Cleveland headed to Charlotte with my world crashing in around me. I don't remember the take off, the flight or anyone on the plane. I don't remember landing, meeting my friend or driving to the place I so longed to be since before 6:00 that same morning.

I do remember entering the building and hoping, praying that it wasn't too late. I found where I needed to be and entered cautiously, not knowing what to expect or how I was going to handle what I saw. I opened the door and their she lay. Tubes, oxygen, life support, an amputated leg to relieve the pressure on her heart--all I wanted was to turn back time. To be able to go back and make amends for every rotten terrible thing I've ever done. Did she really know I loved her? Did I tell her enough? This couldn't be the end. What were my last words? I didn't remember then, and I don't remember now.

Being 17 when my mom died from a massive heart attack was the hardest thing for me. I think now so more then in 1986. I never learned, matured enough, to know how to appreciate all the things that she did for me. All the sacrafices she made, all the "tough love" lessons she taught me. I was a typical, snot nose brat that thought the universe revolved around me. It was all about what I wanted, when I wanted it.

My mom was still alive when I got to the hospital, but she never heard me tell her I loved her and I was sorry. I never heard her say those words to me again. We buried her three days later.

I've made a lot of bad mistakes since then, but that day made me learn to make amends with my dad and learn to appreciate what I have while I have it. My dad's another whole story that someday I'll get to.

I love you mom, I hope you know how much. And I'm sorry I never learned to appreciate you while you were alive.