Three Years

My mom died three years ago this week. She was only 55 when she died and not sick so it caught us all by surprise. I can’t help but wonder what interesting things she’d have done if she had lived another 30 years (like her mom did). We had started to get along a lot better her last year or so on the planet — never quite getting along great; but definitely better. I think she’d get a kick out of the fact that I’ve been doing event planning and photography. She would have been an awesome blogger. Anyone who has seen me totally in my element has seen a small glimmer of her charm and enthusiasm for living life. When my parents were married, they were always the event organizers for family and friends: snowmobile trips, Saturday afternoon pig roasts, etcetera. Before my mom got married in 1972 she was a newspaper reporter and photographer. At some point in the past couple years I’ve really started to get into photography and stepped up my interest with my digital camera. I miss her. Lots.

Easter 1978 Amy's baptism in 1977

Holidays Greetings from The Smiths Mom, 2002

Here’s what I had to say about my mom’s death on March 21st, 2003, September 27, 2003, March 20, 2004.

4 replies on “Three Years”

I would have loved to see your mom’s blog :)

As you know, I only got to hang out with her a few times (a couple here, a couple there), but “enthusiasm for living life” nails it. She lived in a town of about 1,000 people, and it seemed like every damn one of those thousand made it to her wake or funeral. That says a lot right there.

Let’s have a pig roast in her honor!

A really nice post. And I like the pictures a lot too (and your resemblance to your mom is really striking, much like Helene and her mom). Me and my father, who died 8 years ago, were also in that category of getting along better but always with the tension still there. I’m different from my dad but so much shaped by him.

Hey Sooz. Thanks for sharing this. It’s very cool the way you honor your mother by following her passions and pursuits in life. Whether we are like our parents or not, they certainly make us the way we are.

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