My mom loved books. She took us to the library regularly, no matter where we lived. I found Narnia books, Olivia Newton-John albums, and reading challenges with her.
Her bookshelf was always full of personal development books, poetry, and indigenous stories. I scoffed at most of it (which is ironic, given the titles on my bookshelf next to me).
My mom often invited me to walk around Shuler's bookstore in Grand Rapids. I never went, and I never wanted to sit in a bookstore. I didn't enjoy it while in school and working. So, I never did.
Recently, a friend invited me to lunch - at Shuler's. Who knew that they had a cafe? "Of course!" I went and was overwhelmed with nostalgia for my mother without ever having visited with her. The store is lovely and full of beautiful gifts, cards, and books. As I wandered, I felt my mom. I gladly accepted a similar invite a few weeks later. I teared up as I walked again after lunch.
Another day, I was daydreaming while folding clothes. I remembered that my mom was severely burned as a child, but I couldn't remember much of the story. I don't remember why I never asked her about it. It was an awful event in her life, and I had not been interested or taken the time to listen.
I regret not giving my mom this time. I had reasons and did my best, but I still wish I had taken the time.
With loss, we usually have regrets and what-ifs. These are a few of mine.