Sometimes words are hard to put on paper because the emotion and sense of what one is trying to describe is just too large to be contained in sentences.
I’ve started writing many times this week, but feel as though I’ve come up short.
I’ve come to the conclusion that my mom was a verb. Everything she did was a verb. An action to benefit someone in her life – perhaps me, my siblings, a member from church or bible study, a stranger on the street, and often herself last.
In times when family is around, there is still an air in the room, a sense of what is missing. Her casseroles that always had a weird ingredient. Her one-on-one time set aside for each person. Her phone call before bed just to see how I am. Her laugher.
How can I write her? She was too big. Too special. Even in the times she was annoying – as every mom can be – she loved me unconditionally. She lived her life through verbs. Loving verbs that she gave to others freely and accepted in return.
The world needs more people who live life through loving verbs.