I’m allowing myself a personal moment. I can do that on my blog, right? Yesterday at the library I happened across a John Denver CD. I haven’t listened to John Denver in an age, but it always reminds me of the huge music book we had sitting on our old player piano growing up.
So today, while cutting vegetables for stirfry, I popped in the CD and turned it to Annie’s Song. It’s like all the memories from my childhood came to the forefront—the memories that I had somehow stifled in the past years. The happy memories of childhood. Running in from school and getting a snack at the kitchen island from my mom. Learning how to cook with my mom (and hating all the cutting). My mom in the kitchen making bread while I practiced the piano in the dining room.
Before I knew it was crying over the chopped carrots. The irony that I was making stirfry wasn’t lost on me (my mother is Chinese). Turns out… Annie’s Song reminds me of my mom.
And it’s a bit unfortunate, but I don’t have the kind of relationship with my mother that allows me to just call her up and tell her I love her. Let’s just say, it’s complicated. Which probably had me crying even harder.
I hope to goodness that my daughters will be able to call me whenever they want to tell me how much they love me. (Ya. That probably made the sobbing even worse).
Well, if you ever read this, Mom, I love you.