The Bishop Diaries: Winning the mom jackpot

When I was growing up, I thought that my mom was a superhero.

She took care of the family, our home, helped with classes in grade school for both my sister & I, hand made our Halloween costumes, made us suffer through holiday photos every December

(keep in mind, this was long before the world of digital cameras so we would take two rolls of film, send it off to be developed and cross our fingers - it was a chaotic hot mess),

but she did it all with a smile and possibly the most positive attitude I have ever come across.

By no means was my mom perfect, but in my eyes, she was. Without question.

Looking back, I definitely hit the mom jackpot. She was so warm and inviting.

She loved with her whole heart.

She had the most infectious laugh.

She was the glue that held our extended family together.

She did nice things for strangers.

She was always a glass half full person.

She was my best friend.

It's hard to believe that she has been gone eighteen years.

I treasure the videos and photos that I have of her more than anything in this world.

I remember someone telling me after she had passed that although her song had ended,

her melody would linger on through my sister and I.

It wasn't until Jackson was born that I fully appreciated that sentiment.

It's funny how things come full circle, but it was after my mom passed away that I realized that I didn't have enough photos of her. Specifically, I didn't have a decent one of the two of us from the last few years she was alive because of her treatments,

medications and her overall not feeling well.

That's when I decided that I would never have that regret again and began taking a camera with me everywhere I went. Everywhere. Ask any of my friends from back then and they will probably sigh and or roll their eyes. I was always. taking. photos. Now, I'm lucky enough to have it be my job to help families create some of those great memories that they will cherish like I do these-

The last part of this blog post I have wrestled with sharing, but figured that because this is our family diary of sorts, I would want to recall this memory in the years to come

when I'm re-reading our entries.

My dad and I took Jax to the Rock Island Arsenal Cemetery to put flowers on my mom's grave for Mother's Day. In all of the years and the hundreds of times I've gone to the cemetery, I've never once left without crying. Sometimes I've had to sit in my car because I was too upset to drive and other times it's just a tear or two, but I can say with certainty, that this was the first time that I haven't shed a tear. Why? Because my sweet little boy was going around to all of the graves, each one individually, putting his hand on them and saying something with a huge smile on his face. Sometimes it was "tractor," but mostly, it was some toddler babble that isn't translatable to English. My dad thought it was the sweetest thing, as if Jax was telling each person around my mom's grave hello or something. I had my camera in the car, as I always do, and got some shots of it because he was just as happy as can be.

In the half hour or so that we were there, my dad made a comment in passing that if there was any way possible that my mom could tell us how much she loved Jax, she would.

We went to leave and I asked my dad to hold Jackson because there was a formation of clouds rolling in that looked amazing. Unfortunately, it didn't capture as well as I thought it would on film, but when I uploaded my images, I was completely dumbfounded.

As in, I sat at my computer with my mouth wide open.

There were five shots that all basically look the same, except for a small change in shutter or aperture... except the last one.

Somehow, some way, there is a beautiful blue spot in one, with a glowing aura around it. I have no explanation for this, and if there is one, I'm not even sure that I want to know it.

To me, it means that my mom was with us that afternoon, if only in spirit.

Take a look.