Some would say that a good sister lets her baby sister sleep in while she’s on vacation; I say a good sister wakes me up at 5:45 a.m. to watch the thunderstorm rolling through. I’ve loved thunderstorms for as long as I can remember. Even when they get a little too close and scare the bejeezus out of me, there’s something about the raw power of lightning that is so fascinating and oddly energizing. I can almost feel those charged particles streaking across the sky as if each bolt is sending out its own little pulse.

But watching that storm brought up so much more than I had anticipated. It took me most of the day to even realize it. I had a nice little mid-morning breakdown, but I initially attributed that fun episode to lack of sleep and raging hormones. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that I realized how much I was missing my mom. She and I used to sit on the patio on summer nights, watching the monsoons rolling through the Valley, oohing and aahing at each bolt as it went streaking across the sky. She’s the one who taught me to count between the flash and the thunder to estimate how far away the lightning was striking, easing the anxiety that had already taken root by age 6 (I was convinced a rogue bolt was going to come out of nowhere, bypass the 15 foot palms in the front of the house as well as the 10 foot citrus trees in the back, reach under the patio awning and zap me right in my little peanut head). More than once when we were in Wyoming she had to sit with me as the storms got close enough to rattle the house, assuring me that there was not, in fact, a rogue bolt out to zap my peanut head.

When I’m at my sister’s house, I often pass a beautiful photo she has of our mom and me at my wedding. It’s black and white and while I look like I’ve just had my lips done (I hadn’t, I swear), mom looks stunning. My mother was very photogenic, but she never believed this about herself, so her best photos are usually the ones where she doesn’t realize she’s being photographed (many of the others resemble Chandler in that Friends episode with the engagement pictures…). This is one of those photos. While the camera is obviously right in front of her, her focus is on me and not on that terrifying lens. Her smile is easy and natural, her skin is glowing. She’s looking up at me with such love and pride and hope, and it broke my heart when she flat out forgot us. We became the “nice ladies” that went to visit her.

What makes it worse is my own guilt. In the few years before we realized something was going on with her brain, I had a hard time being around her for more than a few days at a time. She always had her little quirks that annoyed me — what mother doesn’t — but there was a time when I found her extra irritating. I felt guilty about it even then, but chalked it up to the ebb and flow of life and relationships, and was sure it would one day correct itself. Looking back I realize that in that time she was already getting sick; she was just really good at hiding it. As the disease progressed it exacerbated the traits that caused us to clash —she tended to gossip, she often came across as a little holier-than-thou, she was wildly passive-aggressive… (yes, I know I tend toward all of these things too— that’s why I find them so annoying!). But now it’s hit me that there will be no correction. That my chance to accept her for who she was is gone and I won’t have another one. I’m being a little dramatic and self-pitying; I always loved her and she knew that. But it pains me to think of the time I missed because I just couldn’t get over myself.

Logically, of course, I realize that this guilt and sadness is futile. I can’t change it and I’d be willing to bet she was not as aware of how I felt as I’m presently imagining. All mother-daughter relationships have their ups and downs, and I was always emotional leaving her at the end of my trips so we generally left things on a positive note. So instead of holding on to guilt I’ve decided to hold on to all of the love and support she gave me over the years; to all of the times she helped heal my broken heart or helped me realize that a sour turn in my life would one day be sweet again. I know that we all take our loved ones for granted on occasion — it’s part of being human. But do yourselves a favor; as cliché as it may seem, call, or if you can in this weird new world, hug and kiss someone you love today. Because guilt is a real bitch.