Miss You, Mom
Grief is a funny thing. Most times, when I cry about the death of my mother, I’m not crying because I miss her. I most certainly miss her, but what gets the tears to flow are thoughts for and about her. Like, did she know what was happening as it was decided to take her oxygen mask away? Was she afraid? Would she have wanted us to make other choices? And the vast array of things she is going to miss out on like weddings, baby showers, Christmas–even the damn toilet my brother put in yesterday or the new deck she asked for that he has been prepping.
I never saw her cry about any of this–hell, all through our tears, she never cried once. She never whined about any of this. There was never one ounce of self-pity. Her composure and her faith were amazing.
And, of course, I miss her. I want to call her right now and chat.
It has been more than a week now, mom, and I do miss you. Send me a sign or a dream, please. I know you are busy spreading light, laughter, and love into all heavenly spaces, but your kid could use a hug. I love you, mom!**
PS Doesn’t that face tell you she is okay and she has this?
**My mother reached out to me this same day. Please see the next post, I’LL BE SEEING YOU.