Wow.
It’s only been 50 days.
And it’s been a long 50 days.
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A new routine has set in.
New dynamics are sounding off.
Some are quiet dominant
Some remain rather subtle.
I do fine when I wake up at 4am.
I’m usually to distracted by how tired I am,
And I don’t put a lot of energy into missing you.
But by 9 I’ve heard a couple people talk about their moms at work.
I’ve thought about you an innumerable amount.
And sadness settles in.
But I really don’t like to be sad.
And I really, really don’t like to cry.
So, often I push whatever it is back down
And keep on trucking.
But when I leave work,
I sense something is missing.
And there is.
My phone call to you asking what you might need.
No more phone call.
I just climb in my car and head for home.
And while I drive a false excitement creeps into my gut.
She’ll be there when I get home.
But it’s just Buddy waiting for me now.
And I set my stuff down.
Let Buddy outside.
Walk down the hall and peer into your bedroom
Because it’s habit.
And you used to be there.
Everyday,
For the last few months.
Watching TV, taking a nap, writing letters.
But now
The room is empty.
And sometimes the bed is made, and other times.
It’s not.
So, I walk into my room
And I change my clothes.
Sometimes I put on pajamas,
Sometimes I jump right into the shower
And make myself up.
When I put on my pajamas, I climb into bed.
When I climb into bed, I close my eyes real tight
And wish for sleep to overtake me.
It usually does.
When I get all dolled up, I leave the house.
When I leave the house, I make up errands I need to get done
And hope there will be enough distractions to not feel sad.
I find plenty of distractions.
I usually end up with Joe.
I usually do just fine when I’m with him.
But sometimes I’m not in my own mind.
You are.
You’re right behind my eyelids.
You’re in every object in the room.
You’re in the reflection in the mirror.
I find you in my thoughts when I drive home.
I park in the driveway.
Hustle inside.
Put the pajamas I had on earlier from my nap, back on.
And crawl into bed.
Sometimes I fall into the deep sleep,
And I’m safe again.
And sometimes I lay awake
While tears fall down my face,
And my pillow is soaked.
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I bought a single rose a while ago.
It reminds me of you.
I spoke your name that day.
But that’s as far as I’ve gotten.
I’m afraid that if I talk to you.
I’m going to cry.
And like I mentioned earlier,
I do not like to cry.
So, when I want to feel close to you,
I look at the roses.
--- --- ---
There are a few mothers and daughters that come into Caribou.
They sit and chat.
They’re older than we are,
And when I see them in the lobby
I ask myself if that’s something we would have done.
I was looking at some pictures of wedding dresses.
And although I picked out what I wanted this past summer,
I want to see more options.
Every girl likes to try on 40 million dresses.
Every other girl has their mom there when they do it.
I closed the web page.
Dad’s got all the pictures of you up.
They’re all over in his room.
He had me put a bunch of the pictures from the posters
Into his digital frame we got him last year for father’s day.
That frame sits on the table and is always running.
So at 4:30am I see you.
And when I eat lunch at the table I look at those pictures.
And there are a couple of you holding Henry.
When I see those pictures
I drift off into thoughts of what it would have been like
The day my kids are born.
And then I stop!
Because you wont be there and I’m getting sad.
And again, tears are just no good with me.
I was really upset one night.
Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.
But you always said, “Life isn’t always fair.”
And Joe asked me who other than me would know how to take the “unfairness”
God created me knowing
This was coming.
He spent time preparing me.
But any amount of preparing
Couldn’t have been enough.
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You’re on my thoughts, Mom.
I miss you.
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