For Mom. I miss you. You were my very favorite kind of crazy.
My birthday hurt.
The holidays will be hard.
Mother’s Day will bring me to my knees.
But, more than those times, I will miss you in the margins. Those little places in life that shouldn’t matter, but they do.
When I’m walking to the parking lot and I don’t have to slow down to make sure you’re ok–that you are behind me and making progress. Knowing that if I stop to wait you will also stop and glare at me until I go again. No special treatment for you. No acknowledgment that your steps are slowing. That I might not have you forever.
When I’m shopping and wishing I had just lost you in the aisles like so many times before. Desperately hoping to find you around the next corner enraptured with an olive bar or a new kind of cheese. Or talking to some stranger about Le Mis.
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