Day 213: 525,600 minutes

How do you measure a year? On October 11, 2010, we lost a beautiful and kind soul. I was sitting there, along with Pops, Jacki and Paul when she drew her last breath. And since that moment, I have had a hole in my heart that nothing and nobody has been able to fill. She was my Momma.

People have told me several times in the past year that I'm strong, that they don't know if they could make it through what I have in this past year. What they don't know is that I don't have a choice--People never realize how strong they are until they are put in a situation where they have to either be strong or quit. I have her strength in me, and it's the only thing keeping me going sometimes.

There are some days that I don't realize she's gone, and it hits me like a ton of bricks when the realization hits me. I used to dream about her, but I can't seem to anymore. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse, but my heart hurts the same either way.

525,600 minutes. Every minute she has been gone has been like a pinprick in my heart.

I have so many memories of her, happy and healthy.
The mornings I'd wake up and go crawl in bed with her while she drank her morning coffee. We'd look out her bedroom window and laugh at the dogs trying to catch the squirrels, or the lazy cats sunning themselves.
The evenings we'd sit on the couch and cry while watching Army Wives, and speculating on what would happen on the next episode.
The days I'd come home from elementary school and find my room cleaned, and know that she did it out of her love for me.

I'll never forget the first time I went with her to MDAnderson for her doctor's appointment. I was 10 or 11, and when I asked her eyes filled with tears as if to say, "You really want to see me get poked and prodded with needles?" We decided to make a day of it in Houston since the medical center was right next to the zoo, and we laughed as we walked around the zoo, looking at the animals. Somehow I ended up with a blow-up alien doll, and I remember holding it out of the train cart as we rode the train around the outskirts of the zoo. The train was always her favorite.

Right before my wedding, I got free tickets to a diamond exhibit at the Houston Museum of Natural Science. We went up on a Saturday, and after going through the exhibit, found a little garden of which I don't remember the significance. I just remember walking around with her, smelling the flowers.

It's hard to believe that I haven't talked to her in a year. It's so hard to believe that, when we go home for Christmas this year, she won't be there to remind me how long to cook the turkey or the perfect way to make the dressing.

I am still angry. It might be foolish, but I am still angry. I feel like she got cheated; we all got cheated. I don't understand why people who hurt so many people live long lives and hers was cut short. I don't understand why it had to be her.

The only thing that I keep reminding myself is that she loved us, and she loved me. She did anything that she could for her children when we needed help or advice. I hope one day that I can be half the mother she was to me. I hope that I can pass on her good traits to my children--her kindness, her generosity, her love, her patience. Even though she's gone, she will live in me.