Three years ago today,
I bundled Dad in the car and drove to pick up Mom from where she lived at the time.
I looked at Mom and told her we were going on a road trip.
That our destination would be a good one.
That she’d have a better life.
She smiled at me and took my hand.

Three years ago today,
We got on the road and drove over three hours straight in the rain.
We listened to music and chatted about nothing.
One hand on the steering wheel, I gave pieces of sandwich to Mom.
Prayed that no one had to use the restroom.
No one did.

Three years ago today,
We arrived at The Carlyle House, my heart thundering in my ears.
I pulled into the portico, parked the car, and got out.
I moved around and opened doors for Dad and Mom.
I reassured them that everything would be okay.
Mom smiled in the lobby, and it was glorious.

This date, December 9, is etched into my mind as much as my mother’s birthday because honestly, it was a day of rebirth for her. From the moment she walked into the building, she was surrounded by smiles, laughter, and love. And for the next 1044 days, my mother lived a life of mostly peace, harmony, and contentment.

I would have loved to celebrate the third year of Mom’s rebirth today, but alas, that was not to be. Instead, I’m sitting in my office area, book to the side, coffee in hand. She’d appreciate that. I’ll eat a brownie in her honor and look at some past pictures of her with her grandkids. She’d appreciate that too. And I’ll hope that wherever she is right now—that she understands just how much I miss her.

Image of butterfly by Jondolar Schnurr from Pixabay.com.