Ravioli. I am not sure what it makes you think of, but, for me, it meant dinner.
This is one of those blog posts I have to write early in the morning because it makes me think of her. I write before my kids awake, when there are no little eyes to see me wipe away my tears and no little questions wondering why I am sad…. again.
That red Chef Boyardee can conjures up memories of my mom years ago, when I was just in grade school and she was a single mom with two hungry kids. My brother, 4 years older than I, would open that can of ravioli and split it between us. I am quite certain that I probably complained that he got more than me but I don’t ever remember saving any for my mom. I am sure she had some excuse to make us feel better, an “I’m not hungry,” to explain it away.
But the truth is we had nothing. My mom worked hard and we scraped by. My brother and I never went without a meal though I can’t say the same for her.
I have sacrificed many a good night’s sleep and not bought that pair of shoes that I didn’t really need, but I have never had to sacrifice eating so that my children could. So this Thanksgiving season, I am thankful for my mom, who was willing to be empty so that I could be filled probably more times than I will ever know.
I am going to write this though many of you will read it casually, like I would have a year ago before we knew how sick my mom really was. Call your mom and tell her you love her. Then tell her thank you. If she is like my mom, she will probably pass it off humbly and say,"It was nothing, It is what moms do."
But do it anyway because one day you will wish you had.