My Mother died in July of 2009 soon after my very first epic trip down Route 66. I think of her a lot still but especially this time of year. I have never really written about her. I thought I would be ready to that but I find myself at the start of this blog unable to do more than mouth clichés. She was strong. She was amazing. She loved my brother and myself with an even hand and celebrated the ways we were different from each other. She was hot tempered and worked too much. But none of that scratches the surface of who she was and how much of a hole she has left in my life. So I won’t try. I’ll just show you the picture.
Some pictures, once taken, become more important that you could have ever imagined. Some pictures become links into our past. Links into a time that were so beautiful and so important that you never ever want to forget them. Today’s picture is one of my most valued memories.
The location is the street outside my childhood home were my Dad still lives to this day. The occasion was actually the start of my very first road road trip about eight months after I got my first bike. Mr Man and I had ridden up to Dallas for a family birthday party and were about to head to Hot Springs, AR.
My family met the news of me getting a bike with some mixed reactions. My mother, however, seemed pretty calm about it. In fact, This particular morning Mr. Man and I had coaxed her away from her housework to go for a ride in my sidecar. We took her to Starbucks to pick up coffee. She jumped into my sidecar like she did everything else in her life, without fear and with a fierce joy. In many ways, she faced death in a similar fashion three years later. As she settled into my car, Mr. Man snapped this picture. One last perfect moment with her that I can hold to my heart forever.