6.307 million minutes

6.307 million minutes are in 12 years (I know because I asked Alexa and then asked Siri to double check her work). My Mom died October 4, 2007, twelve years ago. She was 54 years old and she was an alcoholic and the disease killed her. Every year, around the anniversary of her death, I try to do random acts of kindness in her honor. Yesterday, Kris and I went to lunch and I bought the lunches for a table of ladies sitting near us. I didn't get out the door in time before they stopped by to thank me. I told them why I did it and asked they also pay some kindness forward and if anyone asks, tell them that Diane sent them. As we were walking away, one of the ladies said, "she would be so proud of you." Come on lady, why didn't you just stab me in the heart?! I don't know why this particular sentence is always so hard for me to hear. It happens every year around this time or when I mention my Mom. Maybe it's heartbreaking because she's not here to say it. Maybe it's because I don't know if she would be. I've done things that would make most mothers proud but maybe it's not enough. Her love for me and for her family were not unknown but it wasn't enough for her to quit drinking. Maybe that's why I don't know. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life feeling like I was never quite enough. I'll tell you that no amount of therapy (and my therapist is excellent...she was once psychologist of the year) makes that feeling in the pit of your stomach go away. I am proud of my life and what I have achieved. I'm a halfway decent wife most days and pretty good Mama. My friends and chosen family love me. I'm not wanted by the police and am not ashamed of anything (except my love of Britney Spears..God help me). No matter how much love and support I feel from all of those people who make up my circle, it's still not the same as hearing it from your Mom. Listen, I don't have any romanticized ideas about motherhood because I was given two mothers and one was psychotic and the other drank herself to death. But, there is this thing about my Mom, the thing that lives in me, the fire in my belly, the Diane in me. It's powerful and I feel a responsibility to honor her. Knowing my love of super heroes, my Mom would often say that we were like Superman and Bizzaro Superman. We had all the same qualities only I would use mine for good instead of evil. She wasn't evil, not even close. She was haunted and those ghosts live in my head too. There's a great line from Stevie Nicks that says, "It's just the ghost of what you want to be and the ghost of the past that you live in." (Damn, Stevie can write a lyric). For today, my ghosts are settled and I'm proud of me but I live with that fear that those ghosts can be easily riled up. I hope people do see me and think I'm like my Mom because she was kind, funny, smart as hell, a great cook, a devoted friend, and had a great head of hair. She couldn't fight the ghosts or didn't want to fight the ghosts, I'll never know. What I do know is that I will spend every day of my life fighting the ghosts and my kid will never question how proud I am of him. That's how I celebrate my Mom's legacy.