Joy

Mom had incredible penmanship. (Her mother did, too, and I’ve tried to mimic their style my entire life.) She wrote me so frequently that I have — literally — boxes of cards and letters from her. She sent me a card on every holiday. She even sent me cards on Jewish holidays just to be funny. She sent me cards to celebrate when the Gators won a big game or to console me when they lost a game. She sent me clippings from newspapers. When I was in college she sent me Peanuts and Far Side and B.C. comics nearly every week.

I found this one in her day-planner. It looks like a note to herself, but she addresses me directly as well. It’s not dated and there was no way to determine from the surrounding pages when she might have written it. It could have been two years ago or it could have been ten years ago. I don’t know if it’s indicative of how confused and scared she must have been towards the end, or if it’s an example of how much she loved me that she was leaving notes for me to find one day.

She’s been dead four and a half months now, and I still keep reaching for the phone to call her when I leave the office. Or when I hear a funny story I know she’d like. Or when there’s a tragedy on the news. I miss her so much.