The Second Anniversary of the Death of My Mother

Photo collage of my mother, Kerry Anne Pryor Kerr

Two years ago, my mother died on this date.

I think about her more often now. Even when it is a sad memory, I almost instantly remember that she’s at peace. I can miss her, but not regret that she’s gone. Not in a “better place” sort of way, but that she served her time in purgatory while in this life. It should be her ‘It Gets Better’ period in my mind.

Of late, I’ve been telling my nephews stories about her and other members of my family. My mother plays a key but humorous role in tales about why I don’t like olives, why I do appreciate cemeteries, and why I believe offering someone a ride is the work of angels.

“Want a ride?”

When I was a kid, my mother did not drive. She had a lifelong seizure disorder. My Dad worked shifts, so the rest of us walked everywhere. Everywhere. I probably trekked 80 millions of miles carrying a gallon of milk nestled in my arms. With great resentment toward the milk jug.

In any case, my Mum relied on rides from neighbors and family. Once she walked over 2 miles to retrieve me from school when I was sick.

When I was licensed to drive, my Dad very seriously told me about my new responsibilities. My mother and us kids had received so many rides over our time. It was now my duty to ‘pay it…