Monday, February 7, 2011

I Miss My Mommy

I just spent over an hour on the phone with my mom's accountant, who is the trustee of one of her accounts.  My mom has so much stuff all over the place that are luckily managed by 2 really nice people who are taking care of it.  But now, one and a half months after her death, we're hearing from all her investment, tax, and other advisers about transferring things into our names.  It's not a whole lot you know, it's just little things--but all these people just loved my mom so much.  She helped them all in some journey through their life.  It's amazing how one lady could walk into a CPA's office the year after she lost her husband, is dealing with a multitude of financial issues and problems and 15 years later he's telling me she changed his life.  That she was a guiding post through the last 15 years.  That he still has so many life questions he wishes he could talk to her about. 

Can I say that?  Can you?

I think about her all the time.  I've been going through boxes of things from Houston and I think about how her hands touched or made all these things.  The 8 boxes of photo albums of her and our lives.  I look at her pregnant with me and wish she was here to put her healing hands on my stomach and bless this new life.  That she would hold her grandson and put the holy oil on his precious head, baptising him.  That when I wake up in the middle of the night I want to talk to her, which I do, but I wish so badly she would talk back.  That when I was sick and having contractions a few weeks ago all I could do was cry out for her, that despite Coach's love all I wanted was the reassuring words of my mother. 

I miss the smell of her hugs, her beautiful hands, the sounds of her cooking, and her gentle guidance.  I still see her in those last few moments, struggling for breath, but it doesn't haunt me any more.  It just reminds me that she is, in fact, gone.  That she was taken.  That she can't hold my hand anymore, that she's holding my fathers.  That they're both not here to smile down on Lloyd when he's sleeping in his crib, at least not in person. 

I know she protects me, watches me, sees me all day.  But I miss my mom.  I don't want these things, these stupid things.  I want her to hold my hand.  To brush back my hair.  To make me feel small even though I'm grown.  I miss the safety she provided.  I miss how every night, even when I was totally grown and working, if I was home she would tuck me in and we'd talk while laying in bed.  She'd done it all my life, every night, and it was special getting that concentrated time with her before bed.  I slept better.  So I talk to her now, but I miss her kiss. 

I want him to know I'm here for him in the same way.  That every night I'll tuck him in.  When he's 1 or 100.  That he will always be safe.  That I will take care of him.  That he is always my priority.  That I love him beyond words.  He is a new life, a new gift, a new hope through this.  But I still miss her.  It seems so cruel of the divine to take her now when I feel I want her most.  But I cannot be mad. I was mad for so long after my father died, I can't waste time or energy on an emotion that will not change the truth. 

She's gone.

We live on.

I will love her forever. 

I just wish she was here to hold my hand.
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