Five Years, Momma...

I miss you every day, Momma.
I miss our morning talks.
I miss any talk with you.
I miss your advice.
I miss your cooking.
I miss helping you with whatever you need.
I miss shopping with you.
I miss watching The Waltons with you.
I miss your random phone calls when something Dad used to take care of happened.
I miss family gatherings at your house.
I miss your optimism and your strength.
I miss the way you would jump in to help anyone and everyone who needed help.
I miss your hope.
I miss being able to call you just to ask a dumb question or hear your perspective. I could have used that many many many times since you've been gone.
I miss road trips with you.
I miss your face.
I miss everything.

This anniversary feels sharp.

Every memory is vivid and marked. Maybe it's because the days fall exactly the same. Sunday was our last Mother's Day together after an epic weekend of surprising you with an early birthday party. Monday was the day I called the ambulance. Today was the day you died.

I looked at the clock at the exact time, too. I did that several times today. "This was when we talked to the surgeon", "This is when they gave us the family room for our exclusive use", and so on... I remember heading back to your house afterwards and all of us just sitting in silence trying to wrap our heads around everything. I remember making phone calls and going to bed in the wee hours of the morning... not sleeping, but sobbing all night.

Next week, on your birthday, we had your services as requested by your brother and agreed on by your kids. The following day, we went to the crematorium and supported each other while the deed happened.

But I have also tried to stay busy today to keep my mind off of it. Only, like I said, everything is sharp and hurty. And I miss you so much.

Momma, I hope you and Dad are having a blast together. I hope you look down on us all and smile. I hope what I think are little signs from you all really are. You would have been 80 on this birthday. I think about that and how you'd be getting around, how you'd be doing, how you would react to what we're dealing with right now.

Actually we joke about that. You would be impossible to keep home. You'd always want to go and get more supplies to make more masks. You'd always be at the grocery store "stocking up" because you loved to stock up. You would be in your "helping" element. You would be going crazy without being able to see your friends or go to the craft store.

Oh, Momma. I know you're in a better place, but that doesn't help your kids left behind. I know you're there with your oldest, too, and I hope things are good between you now.

I miss you, Momma.

Behave!