As School Begins

It's a bittersweet time for me, starting another semester of school but my mom won't be around to nag me, "How are your classes going?"
And when, upon learning that I was studying economics, she groused, "What the hell for?" But she knew an advanced degree had been my goal, so she supported me.
I remember her waving to me from the parking lot of her apartment building as I drove the car away last September, the car loaded with my things as I was heading back to Oklahoma. She had a grimace on her face and the phone in her hand, prepared to call me as soon as my car disappeared from her sight.
She'd be nagging me about the same things.
"Why are you driving back alone? Can't Dante come and ride with you? You should get a dog. Get a dog to ride with you, at least then you won't be alone."
And then I'd have to scream back, "I'm fine, Mom, fine."
(In case you didn't recall, she was deaf and wore hearing aids. She could technically talk on the phone with proper volume control, but it still was very difficult).
"You've been the victim of a crime?" She'd yell back.
"No, Mom, No. I said I'm fine."
Oye vey. She'd always imagine the worst.
No matter my age, my mother never stopped worrying about me. I was the most independent of her children, taking off at any opportunity to fly in a plane, to hike a mountain, to run after elk in order to get the best photograph.
Unbeknownst to me (discovered as we were cleaning out her things) she'd built up a library of a lot of my writing, including the notes from my Pastor in high school who encouraged me to write, write, write. So of course it was baffling to her that I was going to study economics and not entering some type of writing program.
I have all that now in a room in our house, along with her dancing photos and other memorabilia.
I've built a memorial garden in the backyard of our house in Edmond, and pray for the day when things feel normal again.
And as I look forward to another semester, I close the door on a critical summer of healing. Someone told me that it takes at least three years to regain a sense of normalcy after your mother dies. I think each person is on his or her own pace; trust me, you never view the world the same again. Your world view is permanently altered.
It's the strangest feeling I could ever imagine.
But I wanted to take this moment to say thank you to everyone who has prayed for me and my family, and for all the wonderful support everyone has provided. I've sent out Thank You cards to everyone, I believe, but I wanted to take this last opportunity to say how meaningful it all was.