Greg Archibald was the strongest man I have ever known.
My father could split wood without a second thought and put the bricks that dotted Western Illinois on his shoulders without missing a beat. However, it was during what I could only characterize as a moment of sorrowful reflection, dad, known for his penchant for painful honesty, said it was my mother who made the only home that mattered.
She often cleaned it with the stereo at full volume. Among her wise life lessons was that it is impossible to listen to Janis Joplin, Michael Jackson, or any of the other greats, quietly.
Mom poured everything she was into me, and I could not be more grateful.
As we approach Mother’s Day 2026, the first without her, I am flooded with memories of the perfectly imperfect person I was privileged to know.
Destined to be a Generation X parent- willing to support my endeavors, she possessed a reserve of confidence in her son that I am still unable to unlock in myself.
More importantly, she pushed but was willing to allow me to succeed or fail on my own merits.
She was my best friend and only required that I tell her the truth, even if that hurt both of us.
To do differently would have been a waste of time, she could read me like a book.
I wish I had the same ability. Before I rolled into her Florida hospital room, I expected the worst. The cancer I had heard about only days prior had already hollowed her.
Mom was a survivor, intentional, quick to quip and willing to lend an ear, a place to stay, or a dollar to a friend, but she was tired and ready for her next adventure.
For decades I had knocked on a shared wall to let her know I was home safely and ended most conversations with “I love you.”
Now, months later I remain lost at times. I am angry, but not the cliché of what was left unsaid, because there was none of that between us. Mom knew how I felt, for better or worse, because we had countless conversations about everything and nothing.
I have even made peace with the cancer because mom liked her cigarettes, and solving the world’s problems, while checking on the neighborhood.
I am angry because I still need her. I miss her life advice. Her granddaughter is getting older and inevitably, I will be lost as she tries my patience.
I know I am not as good at this, as she was.
I want to tell her about the trip we are planning and feel her hug like I did when she dropped me off at college. I want to see her smile the way she did when she put on my boutonniere.
I want to go to Disney World, as we did together so many times and not have to strain to see her in my periphery.
I am selfish, I miss my best friend, especially hearing her say, “I love you, more.”
I will just have to wait; in the meantime, I will say Happy Mother’s Day to my mom and all of the amazing moms in Navarro and Freestone Counties.
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