Two decades ago, I was preparing to spend my final Mother’s Day with my mom, who just weeks before had been told her cancer was terminal.
It was the most emotional time of my life at the time, though I’ve shed many happy tears since. I was, and still am, a Momma’s Boy, and I’m damned proud of it.
In the 20 years since, much has changed in my life. I married an absolutely wonderful and beautiful woman and have become a father two times over. I’ve gone from a 22-year legacy in the newspaper game to a business owner who is chasing his own rodeo dreams.
I’m certain my mother would be very proud of what has transpired since we last visited, just as she was with everything that had gone on before her death. She would love my girls with her whole heart, and she would be would dote on them to her family and friends. That’s who she was.
And while I know this is how life was meant to be and that I hold no regrets, there are pieces of me that wish my girls had met her. I wish they could see her smile, experience her love and feel the contagiousness of her laugh.
As a man of faith, I know I’ll see her again someday. For now, though, I’ll cherish her “visits” during those special dreams, and I’ll continue to tell anyone who will listen about my mom and why I’m an unabashed Momma’s Boy.