Alone in a Crowded Room

I had the pleasure of meeting Joanna's family this week - mom, sister and a gaggle of aunts & cousins came to CO to support her event. Watching her with her mom, while it was lovely to have that window into a friend's life, made me sad beyond words with an ache for my own Mom. It hit me at an odd time, given all the moments throughout the day that the two of them were impossibly cute together. It wasn't when they were walking away from a group of us, arm in arm, off to walk around the event - Joanna having her moment to show off all the hard work to her #1 fan. It wasn't even the sweetness of tucking mom safely into the car to send her off to relax for a few hours, knowing that she needed the rest most dearly. While those snapshots (and countless others throughout the day) stopped me long enough to take note - they were all in full appreciation of the love and pride flowing back and forth between the two of them.

I wasn't sad and lonely for my Mom until dinner. Just pizza and beer at a local spot with the coworkers, friends and family. All carrying on, celebrating the successes and retelling the funny stories of the day. In the middle of all that celebration were Joanna and Anne, enjoying the party but clearly enjoying each other above all. The rest of us were background noise. It's entirely possible that I was staring but they never would have noticed. Too enthralled with each others presence to even notice that the rest of us were there, let alone that one of us was gawking at them with wide, wet eyes.

Those moments don't wash over me as often as people might think. I used to be afraid of them, afraid that I'd freak out or get wildly emotional at entirely inappropriate times. But now I wish for more of them, more opportunities to feel this hollow loss, to remember how much I loved her and how very loved I was. Seeing mother and daughter thoroughly lost in each others company like that was such a lovely reminder of how it was once to be my mom's #1 focus, her only concern, her most important person of the day. Mom's are good like that - and I miss that feeling, that laser-sharp attention. No one sees me the way she saw me. Likely no one ever will.

On Sunday I'm headed to DC to sit on a panel about suicide. I'll be telling my story... to strangers... on camera. Aye yay yay. Until this weekend, I wasn't at all sure that I'd be able to pull it off. But now, after seeing the Laubscher ladies absorbed in each other in the midst of the madness going on all around them, I know that I need to focus all *my* attention on Mom, the way she taught me to do each and every time she asked a question about my day, my loves, my life... with full and undivided attention and complete and unfaltering love.

Thank you Anne and Joanna, (and I mean this in the best possible way) for reminding me of exactly what I'm missing out on. Thank you for reminding me to remember her...
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