Wandering leaves and warm cars.

Everything reminds me of her.

Warm cars.

Leaves that fall spontaneously to the ground.

It’s like she’s trying to talk to me whenever I find a leaf so perfectly placed on my path. And sometimes I pretend she’s wrapping her arms around me whenever I enter a warm car that has been sitting in the sun for hours. I’m not even mad when my car is 80 plus degrees.

I can’t count the many times that I’ve literally reached for my phone to call her. As if she has a current phone number. As if she was still alive to hear whatever news I so desperately want to share.

I’ve recently began writing letters to my future children. It’s something I would have loved to read from my mother. Every time I find something with her handwriting, I treasure it.

I know my mother loved me. But sometimes it would be nice to hear. And nice to read. And amazing to feel so strongly again. Because on days where I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, I think of the things she would do. Or the things she would say.

I sometimes go into these modes where I just constantly think of my mother for about an hour or so. It starts with a slight panic of realization that SHE’S REALLY GONE.

I’ve lived my life nearly 5 months shy of a decade without her. And the panic still persists. And I eventually have to shake myself into reality and remind myself that I’VE BEEN LIVING WITHOUT HER.

And then it gets TOO QUIET. And I start to talk out loud. I’m just saying things. Things that don’t make a whole lot of sense to anybody but myself. And to her. And it’s just the two of us. And I pray she’s listening.

And then I get mad. But only for a brief moment.

It’s like I go through these really speedy grieving moments over and over. It doesn’t happen everyday. It usually just happens when I have too much time on my hands. So I try to stay busy.

So let me ask you this…

Does grieving ever end? So far, I haven’t found a way completely out.

I always come to the acceptance that SHE’S REALLY GONE. But the sadness is still there. It’s stronger on some days than others.

It mostly just comes when I say to myself, “I would really love to tell my mom about this.”

And I can. I do. I speak out loud. Or I say it in my heart. I tell her how I feel all the time.

But sometimes it would be nice to get a response. A nod. A smile. A hug. An “ok.”

Thank God for wandering leaves and warm cars.

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