One Year…

One year.  365 days.  8765 hours.  525,949 minutes.  That’s how long you’ve been gone.  I cannot even begin to comprehend this fact.  It has been a year without hearing your voice.  It was my first birthday without having a voicemail of you singing Happy Birthday.  It was my first Christmas without you.  It was my first everything without you.  I still cannot wrap my brain around this fact.

I think that Kristin Hannah said it best when she said: “A daughter without her mother is a woman broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and settles deep into her bones”.

It has been a very long year.  I have accepted your death, but have not mourned it.  I still have days where I pick up the phone and see your number in my list of favorites and think I should call you.

Then, I remember.

I still have days where everything in the world seems to be going wrong for me and I just want to call you and have you tell me it will all be alright.

Then, I remember.

I have days where I know you are no longer with us, and I am alright with that– happy that you are no longer suffering.

But it hurts.  Deep in my bones.

And, I cry.

I tell everyone that I am just fine… and I am good enough at placating people that they believe me.

But, I cry.

I think about how we used to talk for hours.  Even when there was nothing to say.

Then, I remember.

I remember how, for a few years, we did not talk at all.  Because I was upset with you.

And, I cry.

I cry about the years I lost with you.  I cry about how my children will never know you by anything other than name.  I tell myself we will fix that– we will all get together– siblings, cousins, grandparents.

Then, I remember.

I think about how when you died…. I was not there.  I think about how that last week before you died.. I couldn’t get through to you on the telephone.  I think about how I never got the chance to tell you one last time how much I loved you.  I think about how I should have been better…. more attentive…. more patient… more forgiving.

And, it makes me cry.

I think about how much we were alike.  I get my stubbornness from you.    I also get a lot of my strength from you.  I get my clutter gene from you (although, I’m not all that happy about that one..).  I get my pale skin from you (also not a fan of this one…).  I get my ability to make lists from you.  I also get my ability to misplace the list from you.  I get my sappy, emotional side from you.  I am sure there are more things that I got from you— but I’m too sad to think about them.

I love and miss you, Momma.

And, it makes me cry.

By the way…. I’m listening.  Anytime you want to stop by and whisper in my ear…. I’m here.






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