I’ve often thought about the words my mother would say to me if she were still alive. I feel I’m always thinking about the “what if’s”. I promise I’m not burdened as much with her loss anymore. I’ve felt free for a while now, but I don’t believe I’ll ever stop wanting to hear her voice. There are days where I feel cold and unwanted and lost. And those days might be less frequent if I had my mother to call at a moments notice. She was always better at the emotional stuff then my dad ever will be.
More and more I hear, not only from movies and tv shows, etc, but from my close friends and family, about their mother/daughter relationships. I spent a night just listening to others talk about their mom. It wasn’t really something I blurted out saying I DON’T HAVE A MOM STOP TALKING ABOUT YOURS, but I felt it. I realized that that’s not fair. Why deny someone else’s happiness and freedom to share stories about their mothers simply because my mother is no longer here? That was wrong of me; however, I don’t feel guilty for expressing those feelings. They are real. I know I wouldn’t feel this was if I too had a mother.
I’m often reminded that I do have a mother. I HAD a mother is what I’d rather say. It helps reassure that she’s not coming back. Not in this lifetime. I’m not sure if or when I’ll ever see her again. So I HAD A MOTHER is more accurate. Her memory is there, but I’m a different person now then I was at 12 years old. My relationship with my mother wouldn’t be the same to this day. I don’t know the person she would be to me today, because she’s gone. Because I’ve never met her as an adult. It saddens me to no end. It’s something I long for. I’ll never stop longing for it. That’s the biggest missing puzzle piece of my life.
April 19th is her birthday. She would be 44 this year. Still young. Still full of life.
I miss her so much it hurts. In 2 years it will be a decade since her death. And by that time I hope to be graduated and on my way to new and exciting things, without her.
I hate it when people say she’s there. She’s not. And when they say she’d be proud of me, I don’t know that. I’d like to believe she would be. I don’t know. I guess I’m just selfish. But God I can’t hold her; therefore, everything else is irrelevant. If I can’t see her and hear her – then I don’t have her.
I love my mom. I am grateful that we did have 12 years together. She fought as hard as she could for as long as she could, and I’m lucky for that.
Happy Birthday, Mom.