Sawan and my mom had a special bond, as well. He started calling her mom (and sheepishly asked if that was ok) long before we were married. My mom is the “keeper” of the Hoggatt family lexicon. We have special words for things (commode=remote control). We have special names for each other (Poor Honey=anyone who has had a bad day or is sick). We have special phrases that we say (Lazy ham. Or hamster. Cori thought that’s what “Lazy hound” was when she was little, and it stuck and then was expounded on). I spend a lot of time with the family. This could have intimidated Sawan, but on the contrary, he loved my family immediately, and also immediately picked up on the lexicon and joined in. It was just so cute, and I think it totally endeared him to my mom right off the bat.
My mom is the one (well, the non-professional) that I process my grief with the most. She’s never lost a husband, but six months before Sawan died she lost a brother and the day we lost Sawan she also lost her dad, so she understands loss in a way that a lot of people don’t, and she’s really engaged with her emotions in a very healthy way. This makes her my favorite one to talk to about my pain. I swear that sometimes she has to be thinking, at the end of our conversations, “Ok, that’ll be $125, please.”
There’s just something about that mom relationship. When I’m sick, I still want my mom. I want to call her to tell her my tummy hurts. I’m almost 32 years old. She’s still the best comforter. It looks a little different now than it did when I was little, but, if I need it, she’s still there to take care of me.
She’s beautiful. She’s soft. She’s generous. She doesn’t wear mom jeans, and she drives a mini cooper (how many grammies can say that?). She lets my dog tear up her back yard, even though it’s her pride and joy. She’s learned how to order my drink at Starbucks, and she doesn’t even like coffee.
It’s so hard to put in to words how thankful I am for my family. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by this project that I set up for myself, because once I start writing, I realize how large the thing I want to communicate, and how small and insufficient words can be. I am, however, loving the spirit of thankfulness that this is causing me to live in, as I try to communicate to them.
Mom, thank you so much for being my sounding board, and my comforter.