Paris

Last summer I took Mom to the beach. She lived about an hour from one of the US's major beaches, and all her life, she loved the ocean, the beach and the sun. Her mobility had gotten to the point that although she could drive herself there just fine, it was not possible for her to get onto the beach by herself, so one day I drove down, picked her up and off we went. We spent about three hours lying in the sun and sitting in the water. We talked and laughed and had so much fun. We planned to do it again, but the weather didn't cooperate. So. That was the last time Mom went to the beach.

Mom had traveled a lot in her life; she had lived in Germany, Colorado, California, and all over the Southeast US. She had seen parts of Germany from the back of a Harley Davidson. There were so many places she had not seen, though; and everywhere I have traveled, I have thought of taking Mom.

The first time I saw Times Square, I thought, "Oh, Mom, I wish you could see this!" When I saw “Les Miserables,” "Gypsy," and "Wicked" on Broadway, Mom was there, in my thoughts; she would've loved those shows. Every time I went to Spain, I thought about how wonderful it would be to take her there; she would've been fascinated by Las Ramblas. A couple of years ago I made it to Paris for the first time. Mom had always wanted to go there. When I gave her the earrings I bought for her, she said with unashamed delight, "Oh, my goodness! Whenever anyone complements me on them, I'll say, 'Thank you so much. My daughter bought them in PARIS.'" I have friends in Wisconsin and Chicago, and some of them are Mom's friends now, too. One of them, in particular, wanted me to bring her to Wisconsin to visit, and I wanted to do that so much. She would've loved the farm, the countryside, the depth of the conversations about life and faith. She loved Southern Gospel music, and I have thought for years of taking her to a Gaither Homecoming show, but for one reason or another, I never did.

I can't help but think of all the things she won't ever get to do now. And as a consequence, there are lots of things we won't do together. Yes, the memories we made together are still there, and they will last as long as my mind does, but it isn't enough; it just isn't enough at all, not for me, nor for her. The places she didn't see, the things she didn't do, the people she didn't meet...she won't. 

It makes me so sad that she never saw Paris.