December 7, 1941. FDR forever branded that day as a “date which will live in infamy.” The attack by Japanese air squadrons on the U.S. was sudden. Shocking. Our nation was left stunned and wholly unprepared.

Sixty years later, 9/11 happened and history seemingly repeated itself, leaving us once again in a state of horror and shock.

Then, nine years later, my own personal date of infamy struck. 

On April 9, 2010, my mom passed away.

It was sudden, shocking, and wholly unexpected. The attack on her body was insiduous and swift. I had no time to prepare, save the last 48 hours I was able to spend with her in the hospital. Yet even then, my mind was not preparing for the worst, but was instead focused on the hope of her survival. I prayed. I fought. I was at war for her life.

The battle ended at 2:20 p.m. on a Friday afternoon.

Despite all the valient efforts of the doctors and my nonstop vigil and prayers at her bedside, an executive decision had been made. It was time for her to go home. On this side of heaven, her departure was difficult to bear. Yet I can only imagine the reception on the other side. I’m convinced that the sobs and wailing coming from my weary body outside her room in the intensive care unit were silenced by the rejoicing of angels, the clapping of saints, and the squeals of pure joy and delight from my mom as she finally met her Jesus face to face.

I lost my mom and best friend that day. But heaven gained a most extraordinary woman.

I’m not sure it was a fair trade, but since I don’t hold the master plan to my life or that of the world, I’m parking my questions at the door until it’s my turn to cross that threshold.

In the meantime, the “show must go on” and the near-daily conversations I shared with my mom have been painfully silent.

A few weeks before Mom passed, I began this blog to capture the little moments that make life so interesting. So worth living.

My mom inspired the title. Literally, she would yell out the door to me each time I made a fast-food run, “Don’t forget to check for fries!” I can’t tell you the countless times I’ve pulled away from a drive-thru window without making sure the entire order was there. Mom was full of great advice. She was inspiring. And she was all about the details.

Which brings me back to this blog.

Check for fries is meant to be a reflection of some of those conversations with Mom—the ones we used to have over a hot cup of coffee on Saturday mornings. Conversations about faith, life, and everything in between.

I hope you’ll join us. The pot is full, there’s plenty of seats at the table, and much to talk about.

Sarah