There is a story that has been told to me my entire life, it was from the day I was born, ironically 46 years ago this Saturday. I was brought to my mothers room at Cedars’ Of Lebanon Hospital in Miami. “That is the Orange Bowl son”, she said holding me up to the window. “You WILL be a Dolphins fan.” She was right, as she was so many times after.
My mother lost her battle with cancer during surgery today and I will not hear her voice anymore, or touch her skin, or hear her cheer every time the Dolphins or the Packers score a touchdown. I have been writing on this site for hell I don’t know, seven or eight years. I was the first person to be hired as a writer on this network and I can say that my mother and father were always so proud.
This is by far the hardest article I have ever written. It’s not to you all who don’t know me or her but to her who in some way may be looking down and shaking her head because I’m making a big deal out of all this. And again, she is probably right.
The thing is this, most of the time, eulogies don’t tell who the person was and instead they simply name off the surviving members of their family as if that would lessen some of the pain. So who was Carol Miller? Well for starters, she was and always will be my mom.
Mother never wavered in her love for the Dolphins but over the years of the last 20 or so, she began to follow the Packers as well and she fell in love with them. They were the everyday peoples team she said. She bought the cheese heads, she bought the fake stock, she visited the stadium as a share holder, and she “Ole’ Ole’ Ole’ Ole'” every time they scored. Sundays found my mother decked in her jersey, her hat, her everything.
Like many mothers out there, mine was more of a best friend first and then a mother. She inspired me and my siblings. I suppose these feelings are normal from children towards their parents but my mom was a little bit different. She had an impact on our friends as well.
I never had a friend that didn’t look at my mother as their own. Even now over the last few years reconnecting with old friends from high-school the conversation usually turns immediately to “How’s your mom?, man she was a trip”. Yeah, that was my mom. Today I drive south not to say good-bye because it’s too late for that but instead to seek support and be support for my family.
There are a lot of things in this world that I am proud but few things make me prouder than to have had the privilege of calling her “mom”.
Mom, thank you for being my best friend. There when I needed you the most, there to hold me through the hard times, and laugh with me through the good times. Thank you for being a grandmother to my son and to all my nieces and nephews. Thank you for making me a football fan, a Miami Dolphins fan. Thank you for yelling at the umpire for the rest of the game after I got ejected for arguing a call…”you can kick my son out but you can’t kick me out!” Yeah, I remember.
It’s funny, or sad, however you want to look at it. I don’t remember birthday’s well and it became a running joke between my mother and I because I always forgot hers. One year I called her every week and said “happy birthday”. I told her that it was just in case. My birthday is Saturday, in a twisted sort of way my mom gets the last laugh making sure I don’t forget the day she left us, and I can assure you, that she is indeed laughing at the prospect.
They say there is no greater love than that of a mother for her son. Mom, I can assure you that there is nothing greater than a son’s for his mom.
Everyday I will miss you, everyday I will say I love you, everyday I will pray for you…and every day I will continue to love you more and more. You have read every one of my some 5,000 articles on this site or at least lied to me and said you did. So I know if you can you will be reading this…mom, just thank you. I love you.