Thanks, Mom!

First off... BTHO Mississippi State! WHOOP!

OK. Sit down kiddies. Auntie Kath is going to tell you a story - or a few stories.

(OH. That reminds me- I have my first official nickname in the history of my entire life. I've had cute nicknames by which people have somewhat routinely addressed me in notes or letters or yearbooks or texts/IMs, but never one that anyone called me on a day-to-day basis. Ready? Our company COO calls me Kath. Not here and there, but every single time he talks to me. He's not that guy who just shortens everyone's name either. I think it's because we have history and we're buds from way back. Yeah sure, I'd rather it were something cool, like "Stretch" or "Glitter," but Kath will do. So cool!

Crystal has a nickname for almost everyone except me. I hate it. She says it's a good thing, but I disagree. She calls our HR girl "Lois" because she looks like Lois Lane. She calls one of her clients "Martine" because she likes to imagine that he's an exotic, handsome foreign man, when in actuality, he's a geeky American statistician. One day I will get a Crystal nickname. One day.)

Well that was quite a digression. And I know I'm neither a Stretch nor a Glitter. Probably a good thing not to be a Glitter.

Anyhoo... Years ago, my mom had a big garage sale, before moving to Austin. Laura and I went down to help her price things. The "Greeeeeat! Byyye!... She's not coming" story came from that weekend.

At some point, we were looking for a missing little metal chain piece to something. As a perfect example of how organized my mom was, despite appearances at times, she instructed us to go into the garage, make a path through a metric buttload of garage "stuff" under two inches of dust to a secretary desk underneath a bunch of boxes, a stack of magazines and a old coat. In the pull-down part of the desk, there were little drawers and shelves. "Open the pull-down and in the second shelf from the top on the left, way in the back, behind the spool and the empty ring box, you'll find that chain."

Laura and I looked at each other like Mom had lost her mind.

Right.

Well, the chain was RIGHT THERE, in that anonymous little spot, where it had been resting since before Reagan was president. We couldn't believe it. I can't even locate the sunglasses I had on five minutes ago.

Another side note- In the hours after Mom died, while we spent time with her, I never felt her "there" in the room with us (my uncle Rob and me). I had been prepared for her passing, as she was very very ill for about a week prior and we had known she wasn't going to make it. I had a very strong feeling that she was going to always be with me afterwards, in a spiritual sense. We were very close and I just knew I would be able to feel her energy around me after she was gone. But the minute she died, I was keenly aware that she wasn't around.

Matter-of-fact, I never felt her anywhere for a long time.

It really upset me, because I had anticipated something so different. I even went into a whole questioning of my faith and if there is an afterlife at all. (WOW. This took a turn, eh?) I talked with my aunt after several weeks and told her about it. I asked if maybe she felt Mom was with her, because she certainly wasn't with me. She told me, "YES. She's definitely here! I've really needed her. Maybe that's why.." etc. etc. I wasn't sure if she was trying to help me cope with the loss of my mother or my crisis of faith or if she was being honest, but it was a little reassuring and I was happy that she felt Mom was with her if she needed it at the time (she wasn't able to come to see Mom just before she passed).

So. Fast forward to yesterday. I was working on a budget issue for one of my studies.

About 2 months ago, I had written notes on a small piece of paper- a list of casebook pages and explanation of how I had come up with some prior budget numbers around the casebook design. Back when I put it in the stack of trash paperwork I keep by my desk to take to the shredder sometime, I remember thinking I should possibly keep it. But I didn't.

I usually go to the shredder every couple of weeks, but every time I've picked up that stack recently, the phone has rung or something has come up to stop me. I've been thinking how tall the stack is getting for a while now.

While I was trying so desperately on Friday to remember what was on that silly piece of trash paper, and wishing that I had kept it, I finally thought I should take a chance and look through the trash stack. Who knew. Maybe it was in there somewhere, although I had most likely tossed it with the last batch.

I reached up and grabbed most of the stack, down to about the bottom 15 pages or so. I lifted it up.

That paper was sitting, face up, with those glorious numbers I needed, RIGHT IN THAT SPOT. I kid you not.

First thing that popped into my head was that Mom had directed me there. Totally random thought. Go to your shredder stack, pick up about 224 sheets of garbage paper, about 15 from the bottom...

So yeah. Thanks, Mom!