Flash. Little Moments.

Dear Mom,

Flash.
Summer before seventh grade. We are at Sally and Sara's (old) house. Sara, Amanda, and I are practicing singing "Angel" for luminaries. I can't even look at you because you have tears rolling, no, RACING, down your face. Tears of joy. Kathy laughs at this, because everyone knew how sentimental you are. 

Flash.
Sophomore year. I am asking for family heirlooms for my Mr. Moore project. You're in your room, going through old jewelry, showing me old things of my grandmother. You then find your engagement ring, the gold rose one. I ask if I can have it, taking it away before you give me an answer. If we hadn't had that conversation, a few weeks later, I would not have known how important that piece of metal was, would not have held it close like I do now.

Flash. 
Shannon's baby shower for Brody. You laughing at me and Sara while we eat the baby food. Watching you carefully write in her baby book. 

Flash.
Every friday night. We were either out to dinner or shopping with Danny and Nancy, or over at Janet's house. Because it's against the rules to cook dinner on fridays. 

Flash.
Single digit age. You rocking me singing "Rock a bye baby," rolling me to the floor when it got to "then down will come baby, cradle and all." Put on repeat for a good half hour, I can imagine. This goes along with me trying to sing the lyrics to Knickerbocker. 

Flash. 
Fruit salad. You made a lot of fruit salads.

Flash. 
You were in the bathroom, showing off you "Ciara" perfume, and it was driving me nuts that you would NOT pronounce her name correctly. Little did you understand that you were wearing the perfume of someone with a song named "My Goodies."

Flash.
Seventh grade. You and Michelle were in the front seat (obviously) and Kayla and I in the back. Passed by Tres Pinos School after the 8th grade graduation, stating "hey, this will be us next year!" You and Michelle were not thrilled with this idea. 

Flash. 
Fourth grade dance classes. You would be sitting off to the side sewing my fairy halloween costume. 

Flash. 
Getting in the car after Shirley's funeral. Discussing how delighted we were with the reverend, agreeing that she would be the best choice for someone's funeral service. You saying "If we ever go to church, we are going to her's." Four months later, she was the reverend at your funeral for this very reason. 

Flash. 
Doing my sixth grade project about a musical artist, and doing it about George Strait. Interviewing you, learning about different concerts you've been to, how you've seen him when he was playing small shows in Salinas before he got big. Laughing at your starstruck face.

Flash.
Every Christmas or birthday. Always getting you some sort of jewelry. Usually a pin. And you wore them all, even the tacky ones.

Flash.
Barbie. I should have an entry by itself just for this story, I can't control my laughter remembering this for the first time in awhile. When you had died your hair this time, you and Janet were too busy watching Providence that you didn't rinse out your hair soon enough, so your hair turned out platinum blonde. The next day I walked behind you on the couch and was startled. You asked what was wrong and I replied "I thought you were Barbie!" 

Flash.
Wasn't too long before it happened. I get a text from Danny asking what your middle name is, and you barge into my room, on the phone with Nancy, and say "DON'T TELL HER WHAT MY MIDDLE NAME IS!" And when you finally told them, they didn't believe you. I never got why you didn't like that name, it really isn't that awful. I guess that's why you went simple for mine, "nicole." It's hard to hate a name like that. 

Flash.
Listening to you quietly attempt to sing in the car. I guess you weren't THAT bad but it was hard to know what your voice really sounded like if you never let me hear it. 

Flash. 
You burnt the sausage. I walk into the kitchen, which is almost completely black. Instead of turning off the stove, I run into the laundry room and scold you for trying to burn the house down. Because I am a helpful daughter. 

Flash.
Your Christmas sweater. The black one with a pyramid of white teddy bears, reaching for a star.

Flash.
Every night since I was 2 or 3. The goodnight dialogue that never failed. 
*Kissing cheek or forehead* Goodnight Mom.
Goodnight Baby Doll
See you in the morning
See you in the morning too
Love you
Love you too.

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It's all the little things, all these little moments, that fill up my memory. I try and reflect, try and take time to remember. Because I will hate myself if I ever forget what you were like. 
It's these little moments that I miss the most. The ones that in normal life would not make a difference to me. But now, it's all I have. And now, it's all I want. For all of these every day moments, to happen now. 


               Love your baby doll,
               Tessy Loo Loo