A Mother Without a Mother
“Tell Your Story”
That is what I heard her say this morning while I sat, staring blankly at my computer keyboard. But Mama passed away two years ago.
She was my best friend, the only person outside of my home who lived inside my heart.
Do you have a person? The one that you can wear that holy t-shirt and pajama pants around, comfortably; the one person who can come over when your hair is plastered to your greasy head and you’ve been in the same clothes for two days.
She was my person.
We laughed out loud at each-others jokes when no one else understood them, and I’d call her when I needed someone who “gets it”. I told her everything. I had that with her and no one else.
You see, I’m the loudest quiet person you’ll ever know, and trust is something I’ve learned to use sparingly. My walls were built long and strong.
If you could be a fly on our cobwebs, you would never believe that I’m the level of introversion that I am. I barely leave the house, and because of that, I feel lonely.
I miss her.
Our relationship was dynamic and colorful in a dysfunctional and confusing kind of way, but we wiped the slate clean on Sept 23, 2016.
6 days before she was gone.
Why didn’t we do it sooner?
We go through the motions of life inside our own heads instead of listening to others. Truly listening.
Why is it that when someone is gone or out of our grasp, we are present with our feelings; that we realize what we had and that we took advantage of it.
How do we not see what is right in front of us?
It’s human nature to just assume that presence will always be there. I was there when she took her last breath. Her presence grows fainter by the day.
Maybe it’s a friend, a lover, someone that you’re at odds with right now. If you feel pulled to do so, please reach out to them. I am begging you to tell them how you feel about them today. Don’t wait. Pick up your phone. Wake them up. Listen to their voice. Or Put your sweater on, find your keys and drive to their house to say “thank you”. Heck, just sit in the same room with them. Tomorrow may not come.
What I wouldn’t give to hear her voice again. To wrap my arms around her. Just simply being beside her.
A love for a Mother can be the deepest, purest, most unconditional love that there is. It feels so far away now.
It’s been two years and it still hurts.
I am a Mother Without a Mother, and I’ll tell you my story.
If you’ve lost someone and the pain is still deep, you can reach out to me, or you can sign up below for future posts, free stuff, and to just be a part of the team.
book ideas for Moms without Moms-