Mom: Part 1

When I was a kid, I often heard people say that it was the little things that you remember in life, because it was the little things that matter most. I remember how every time after I heard that expression, I would focus all my attention on doing just that—remembering. However, I didn't want to just remember the little things, but the big things too. I didn't realize back then that they were the same thing.

It may sound cliche, but now that you're gone, I finally understand—as much as I may hate it. So I wrote a list of memories. Some may appear to be more important then others, but they're not. At least, not to me. I'd like to imagine it would be the same for you.

So... Here it goes.

Every year for Christmas until I was nine, I would ask Santa for a bunny. So, you would always get me a different type of stuffed bunny 'from Santa.' My first favorite was 'Spot,' who was actually a dog toy with a high pitched squeaker that I used to squeak for hours on end. When the dog managed to shred Spot, you went out and bought this weird little machine and we built my new favorite rabbit: Ms. Stuffy.

We would either love the same songs or burst our eardrums trying to drown out each other's music. We'd watch the fireworks together every fourth of July. We watched cartoons together. Disney Channel was my favorite. You liked renovation shows.

You asked me to be strong. I'm still trying. Sometimes you'd surprise me with random snacks you'd cook. I wish I could cook half as well as you. We lived in a lot of different places. Whenever one of us couldn't sleep, we'd walk to the store together, even if it was three o'clock in the morning. Whenever I cried you'd cry with me, because you hated to see me sad.

You took my brother and I to the amusement park. Aaron threw-up every three rides and you yelled at me for laughing. You tried to ride the ferris wheel with me, but you were terrified of heights and started screaming halfway up for them to let us off.

You always supported my dreams. When I got excited you'd listen to me, or at least pretend to, as I rambled on for hours on the same subject.

You smoked and I hated it. We would argue about it several times a day. You tried to quit. When I had a bad day you'd run your hands through my hair until I somehow managed to relax. You loved me unconditionally. I love you too. You read me Harry Potter, and whenever a new movie came out we'd go see it in the theatre. Whenever I didnt know what to do next, you'd sit down and help me figure things out. You got me a kitten. You were allergic to cats.

You told me I was beautiful, even when I didn't believe I was. Especially, when I didn't believe I was.

Your favourite colour was yellow. Sometimes you'd lose your temper and you could be cruel. You always tried your best to make up for it though. In eighth grade I took a latin class. You let me call you Matèr for months. You hated hospital food. Sometimes we would argue over the stupidest things and then we'd wind up laughing about how ridiculous we must have sounded. Sometimes we'd just stay mad. You made sure I knew you cared.

I wanted to wear face masks but I never had before and I didn't want to do it by myself, so you became my fellow test subject, or as you liked to call it, guinea pig. It became our thing.

We'd watch cooking competitions together. When I was eight we were in a car accident on our way to the grocery store after you picked me up from school. I was in the front seat so when you saw the car about to crash into us, you swerved so it would hit the side instead, so that the airbags wouldn't go off. You got a broken shoulder, nose, and they rushed you into an emergency surgery. I didn't have a single scratch.

You'd gloat about me to all your friends. I listened to you cry at night when you thought I was sleeping and I'd cry with you 'cause I knew you were scared. I was too. You'd tell me you were proud. You couldn't remember my name, but you still knew who I was.

When I was seven I talked about buying a hotel and turning it into a haunted amusement park and hotel. We decided we'd call it Alissa and Mommy's Hotel of Horrors. You bought me tarot cards for the freaky Fortune Teller of Doom. You drew the line when I asked for a Ouija board though.

You let me skip school on my birthday. You helped me start a scarf collection. Now, I have to many to count. You got me tonsof books. You liked it when I read the books you picked out. You spent your last dollar buying me that outfit I wanted. You homeschooled Aaron and I for two years, so we wouldn't have to deal with the kids that would bully us or start fights to get us in trouble.

You taught me to appreciate what I had.