Immediately after my father died when I was 16, I remember thinking about things that I wanted to tell him, things that made no sense at all. For example, wanting to share with him details of his funeral that he would have liked. Cold, hard reality snapped in and my teenage mind realized that of course, that wasn't going to happen.
Many years later, the death of my mother, I know she's gone, but there are life experiences that I'd love to share with her. Not as personally significant as the birth her first great-grandchild, but everyday things. For example, I just finished the autobiography of American Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayor. My mom would have loved that book.They shared the same background as a child of very new Puerto Rican immigrants, my mother born just months after my grandparents emigrated, and both grew up in the Bronx. They also lived similar values of perseverance and doing the right thing.
In recent days we would have talked together about her being glued to the TV with the Papal goings on. Or I would have shared the fact that this week, great Dane that he is, my husband is cooking a Puerto Rican meal for 18 for my birthday!
I don't know the point of this post, I guess it's just a slice of life.