Missing Her
When death shrouds Mother’s Day
I thought I’d be better at this by now — missing her. Some years it’s not as bad. Other years it feels unbearable. Time has helped, but time also hurts. The loss grows less foreign each year. But each year also carries me further away from her.
When my mother died, I thought the world would surely cease — or at least it would stop mattering to me. But it’s been over twenty years and there is still much to live for, even though I’m still acutely missing her.
All I can do is wonder how different our lives would be if she were still among the living. Just like a puzzle with a missing piece, without her my family is incomplete. Her death shattered my family. We lost each other and ourselves for a while. Some of us broke down. Others pulled away. We all suffered while putting on a brave face.
All I can do is remember and miss her. Miss her love, her advice, her hugs, and her laughter. I miss her cooking and the way she enjoyed her food. I miss her combing my hair and the scent of her perfume. I even miss hearing her sing off tune. I miss the sound of her calling my name. I miss our talks, her jokes, and the way she lived her faith. I miss when she challenged or embarrassed me. Missing a loved one means missing everything.
