Missing my Mother

I never knew how horrible it was to lose someone. To live every day knowing you will never see them again. I bet it’s the underlying meaning of waiting for the messiah. If only she were to come back, I would appreciate her and honor her and worship the ground she walked on. Now all I have are my memories. Not only the ones where she was inconvenient, difficult, but the ones that make me realize that people are probably not meant to be convenient in our lives. I see now I was lucky in some ways to have someone who crossed boundaries instead of most of my other relationships, so convenient and distant, there’s no possibility of really knowing each other, except knowing what needs of each other’s we haven’t met. With my mother gone, I understand more of the truth of our relationship. How rare it was that we could discuss who we were and weren’t for each other. I never realized how special that was. The endless phone calls, all the times I was alone or scared and I’d dial her number and she’d talk with me for hours till I fell asleep, rehashing the past till it made new sense, till it made us laugh so hard my ears would hurt. Any time someone hurt my feelings, she was right there to put everything in perspective. All the sing-alongs we had together since I was a child, even up to this year. Now, I see all these moments for what they were, they were gems. And life will never be the same, never be the long list of plans I thought it was. Now I see life for what it is, just moments, mostly moments that pass by too fast to notice they were magic.

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