Texts with Mom
Mom usually calls. Her texts are informative. Sometimes she just checks on me. At our respective ages, we unfortunately both experience some kind of illness fairly frequently.
More frequently than either of us would like our texts are about the passing of a relative or a friend. It's easier not to become emotional over text.
My mom, my brother, and my daughter are artists. I'm the fortunate recipient of many beautiful works. Mom likes to know how and where I'm appreciating them. Secretly, I think she just wants to know I didn't stuff it in a closet someplace.
When we're busy, we really just want to let oneanother know they aren't forgotten and to catch up a bit.
We frequently get together as a family. My siblings and I are close. My mom likes to emphasize their presence to make certain I'll be there with my family on time. She never mentions our brother. It's assumed he'll be present unless stated otherwise.
Texts with mom always have a purpose.
My text based conversations with my children are more entertaining. Perhaps I'll share them.
You know those texts from Mom? The ones that hit different, right? My original post touched on how Mom's texts always seem to have a purpose, and it’s true. Sometimes, as those Google searches suggest, you really do just have to read your mom's text and 'go on,' but what does 'going on' really mean when the messages carry so much weight? For me, it's about understanding the unspoken language and the deep care behind every character. Take, for instance, the texts about health. It's never easy to hear about loved ones being unwell. My mom's messages often bring updates on our respective illnesses, like those anxious exchanges during bouts of pneumonia or when COVID-19 was making its rounds. Receiving those texts, you feel a mix of worry and gratitude. It’s a moment to pause, send a quick 'thinking of you,' and then, yes, continue with your day, carrying that little piece of shared vulnerability with you. It’s a quiet way of saying, 'I'm here, I care,' even when we can't be physically present. Then there are the truly difficult ones. The article mentioned texts about the passing of a relative, and I recall the messages about Auntie Nene's declining health. Processing grief through a screen is strange. It wasn't just a notification; it was Mom sharing her own sorrow. In those moments, 'going on' means allowing yourself to feel, to mourn, and to acknowledge the shared loss, even if your reply is just a few heartfelt words. These texts, despite their somber nature, reinforce our family's interconnectedness. But it's not all heavy. Many of Mom's texts are about keeping our family fabric strong. She's the master coordinator! From making sure I'm on time for Sunday lunch with Mandy and Krissy's family to detailing the plans for our Easter gathering, her texts are the glue. They're not just invitations; they're gentle reminders of the importance of togetherness. And sometimes, they’re just little snapshots of her day, like a quick message about a busy trip to Sam's, which, in its own way, feels like a comforting check-in. And what about the artistic exchanges? My Mom, brother, and daughter are all artists, and I'm lucky to receive some beautiful pieces. Mom loves to know they're appreciated. A simple text asking, 'Where did you hang the painting?' isn't just about the artwork; it's her way of checking in on my space and making sure I feel loved. Even belated New Year wishes can spark a conversation about how the year is unfolding, reinforcing that continuous thread of care. So, when those search queries pop up, 'sometimes you have to read your mom's text and go on,' it resonates deeply. It's about acknowledging the significance of these exchanges – the practical updates, the emotional news, the loving check-ins – processing them, responding authentically, and then consciously moving forward. Every text from Mom, whether it’s about a health scare, a family gathering, or just a simple, 'how are you?' is a reminder of the unique, enduring connection we share. They might not always be entertaining like my kids' texts, but they are always, always purposeful and cherished.