My mom wasn't perfect.
For much of my life, she was a house wife. She was pretty bad at household chores. I don't think they were things she enjoyed. But we always had our basic needs met. She also always made sure the bills were paid.
Prior to that, mom had been a social worker. They lived in Toronto. This was long before I was born.
During my childhood, mom volunteered at a Salvation Army. I used to love hiding in the racks. Yeah, I know about their stance on homosexuality.
When I was in high school, she took a delivery job. I'd go with her sometimes. One time, our van broke. We were on the military base that particular time. The person we had brought the restaurant membership to let us hang out while we waited for help. It always seemed like a strange job to me, but I'd often do the drop with the person because I had the energy to burn. It also felt good to help out.
She loved finding us things at the thrift store or some yard sale. She was always thinking about us and wanting to make sure we were OK.
And mom was pretty good at other things. Like driving me to and from rehearsals. She also came to band, choir, or theatre performances and graduations when I told her about them.
Like me, mom often had her nose in a book. I could read before I ever set foot in a school. I credit her for my love of reading. It's quite likely that if I didn't fall in love with books, I wouldn't be a writer today.
We all miss her.
None of us truly know what happens after our time on the third rock. If there is somewhere else after this, I hope mom is happy there.