Author: Anna Ortiz Spencer

One Less Flower Child

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You never know when grief will strike. One minute you’re mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and the next minute you’re wiping tears off your phone. There’s a quote that says losing a loved one is actually two losses — the first is losing what was and the second is losing what could have been.

This weekend I saw posts from the “Boo at the Zoo” event in my hometown. My Mom was not a big Halloween fan, but she did participate in this annual event with her coworkers. Oftentimes we’d chat about her costume ideas on the phone. Occasionally, we would shop together as she planned out her look. This year her coworkers dressed as hippies. In my mind’s eye I could so clearly see her in costume…vest, beads, tie dye, bell bottoms…the whole works. A real hippie chick.

As the world works to resume “normal,” I’m realizing just how hard this second year without her has been. We all collectively missed events like this in 2020. Now these events go on…they just go on without her.

She should be here.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Mothers and Daughters

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I am blessed. My mother and I had an easy relationship. We not only loved each other, but we liked and respected each other, too. This is something that I don’t take for granted. I pray that my daughter and I have that same kind of relationship. I truly am her biggest fan! There’s a quote by writer Becky Blades that says, “Mothers are the people who want your dreams to come true even more than you do.” I feel this on so many levels…as a mother AND a daughter, but also as a sister, cousin, aunt and friend.

My daughter is 16. She drives now. Something my Mom didn’t get to see (or experience — lol!) When she started high school, she told my Mom that she wanted a little white car and that’s exactly what she drives today. It’s clean and girly and smells sweet. We both agree that Grandma would love it! She takes good care of it and looks forward to driving to Sonic for happy hour. In so many ways she is my daughter…determined and creative, responsible and funloving. While she and I are lucky enough to share in these great qualities, we know (without a doubt) that we get them from you, Mom.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Welcome Wreath

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My childhood memories don’t include door wreaths. I remember lots of other decorations, but not wreaths. The first wreath I can actually recall made its appearance on our front door while I was in college. DIY crafts were becoming really popular at the time and my Mom made her own pretty floral wreath. Over the years she made and bought several different wreaths each ushering in a new season or holiday. I can remember one wreath that contained metal elements and on especially warm summer days the hot glue connecting the pieces would melt and fall off. It was funny, but Mom was ever resourceful. The next time I saw the wreath she had reconstructed the metal element with wire. It looked good. No more melting. When I had my first home, she gave me a fall wreath. Moving away from apartment living was monumental. Now I had a front door! She deemed it appropriate that I have a wreath for it. She told me to dress it up with fall leaves. I did as I was told.

I hung the wreath this week. It’s been on the door of every house we’ve lived in for the last 20 years. The same wreath. The wreath she gave me. They say home is wherever your Mom is, but maybe it’s wherever her wreath lives.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Breakfast is Love

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It’s always surprising to me how many people don’t eat breakfast. As a kid, my Mom always made sure we never walked out the door without breakfast. Sometimes it was cereal, but mostly it was a hot breakfast. If we were really lucky, it was breakfast for dinner. Until now, I always considered breakfast a nicety. Today, I see it as an act of love, not only for the recipient, but maybe even for ourselves. You see, I make sure my kids have breakfast, too. Usually it’s just cereal because that’s what they like (and who can blame them, I love cereal, too!) Recently though, the kids have started to enjoy a hot breakfast. I get it — there’s nothing like starting your day with a full belly of warm food. In fact, I typically make myself a hot breakfast, sort of an act of self love. Still, making breakfast for someone else hits different. It’s extra time, extra energy, extra supplies and definitely extra love. Let me explain…the last thing I want to do is wake up and make breakfast. I’m tired, I’m no chef, and breakfast is messy. However, doing this for someone else is in its own way an act love. It says, I will take this time, extend this effort and do this for you because I love you. I’m not going to promise to make everyone breakfast all the time, it’s definitely not in my nature, but I’m grateful for a mother who did that not only for me, but for us.

Food for thought.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Thinking of You

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It’s funny the things that get passed down from generation to generation. Every time someone in my presence starts rubbing their nose or comments that their nose is “itchy,” I always tease, “Someone must be thinking about you…” I know it’s a silly superstition, but it’s something my Mom always said to us growing up and now it’s something I say to my kids — they even say it back to me! The phrase has been getting a lot of use lately as this allergy season seems to be longer and stronger than in past years. My entire household is currently plagued by red eyes, stuffy ears, scratchy throats and those itchy noses — giving us plenty of opportunities to tease one another with that silly superstition. You would think it would get old or annoying, but instead the saying just makes me smile and gives me yet another opportunity to think about my Mom and wonder if maybe she’s thinking about us, too.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Buying a Watermelon

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I thought I saw you at Walmart the other day. I was walking out of the frozen food aisle when I saw a woman who looked just like you. She had short dark hair, perfectly styled. She wore glasses, the type that show off friendly eyes. I might not have noticed this woman if it hadn’t been for one detail — her shirt. She was wearing a red Kansas Jayhawk t-shirt. My favorite. The whole scene caused me to stop in my tracks. It took my breath away and I saw her smile at me just before my eyes started to mist over. I had to turn away. When I finally looked up, she was walking away…a watermelon in her arms.

You always liked watermelon.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.