Mum, it’s me

So I went to pick up the phone and call you to talk about wedding plans. Got halfway through that old familiar number and then dropped the phone, fell back onto the couch and the floodgates opened.  How could I forget that the one woman I want to talk suits and vows with and ask whether or not I should wear a flower to match AH’s bouquet for my lapel wouldn’t be able to pick up the phone?

It’s been over 12 years and I still want to pick up the phone and talk to you. I still want to ask you if you think I should go with one of three options for AH’s wedding gift.  I still want to talk to you about so many things, but you’re not there. Not the way you used to be.  And people can tell me you’ll see me get married, and yeah I know you will, but it’s not the same.  You were taken from us. You were taken from me too early. You should be here to talk photographers and plans for children and places to live and honeymoons and you’re not.

I remember when my classmates used to laugh at our History teacher because she would go off on tangents and drone on and on about how she wished her mother had been there for key dates in her life.  Thing is, I know how she feels now. And it hurts more than anything I could possibly have imagined back then.  No one should lose their mother that early.

 12 years and I still get angry at you for leaving, but mostly, mostly, I just feel the hole where you should be.  I’m reaching milestones that I want to share with you and I can’t and it doesn’t matter what they say, they don’t get it.  And I’m glad they don’t. Because the pain of losing your mother is one of the most difficult things to deal with.

I miss you more than I ever thought possible and I still love you, more than I did when you were here.  Promise me you’ll be waiting for me when my time comes?

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