It was one year ago today that I learned the news of my Mom's lung cancer diagnosis. It was one year ago today that my entire world was rocked off its axis. It was a Tuesday. I was wrapped up in my own concerns of going back to work soon and leaving Charlie with a babysitter. All the while, Mom was having her lungs biopsied and facing much larger fears. She delivered the news to me in her typical straightforward manner. And in my typical straightforward manner, I boarded a plane to Michigan with my 3 month old infant a few hours later. And spent the best 2 weeks of my life with her.

That's not the point of this post. The point of this post - and others to follow - is to remember things or events that she and I shared. They may seem silly but I come across them and stop in my tracks. Because I think of her. I instantly remember what she wore that afternoon in October 2005 when we browsed the home goods aisle at Kmart searching for new kitchen towels and came across these perfect towels -

They seemed as though they were from the seventies. Mom picked them up and felt them, turned them over, held them up. I gushed over them as if they were a brand new car and we tossed them in the cart. She was helping me fill my new house with all the nice things a nice new house should have. And every time I see this dish towel, I think of that moment.

Or the November 2008 evening that she flew into California (at a moment's notice) to take care of me on bed rest and unpacked her suitcase in the spare room. She pulled out gifts for the baby-to-be and this onesie was one of those items. It was whimsical and different and exactly what I would want for the baby. It wasn't like the other goo-goo-ga-ga baby stuff people had given me. And she knew it.

She smiled as she handed it to me and just simply said, "I thought you'd like this. I tried not to buy a bunch of stuff but I just couldn't help myself." Then she put on her favorite sweatsuit, finished unpacking and got busy setting up my nursery . . . and the rest of my life.