What I really want to do is talk to my mom. You’d think by now I would be used to it, the not calling or talking, the not eating meals together.
But I am never quite there. Never quite over it.
Distraction has settled into my days recently. It was there last night, too, in the middle of it. It isn’t omnipresent, though it is persistent and appears whenever life is weighing heavily on my mind.
And I realize what is troubling me as I sit down unable to write what I am meant to write—I need to talk to my mom.
When life gets busy and I am accumulating moments—both good ones and bad—I want to go over everything with her, dissect it all, get her advice. Motherly advice.
It is a troubling state, for my mom passed away in 1997, which means there is quite a lot I’d like to tell her.
Time passes, it softens the edges, but it doesn’t heal.
When I dream of her, we hug and laugh and say things I can’t remember later on. We often wander in a field thick with wildflowers and she simply fades away. I call her back, over and over, search for her, but she is gone.
But I need her. Right now, I need her. I always have, that much is true, but life feels like it’s happening too fast and that suddenly it needs to slow down.
For now though, I will write through it and embrace my distracted state of mind, for eventually a clearing will emerge leading me out of the thick field of wildflowers, as always it does.
The wrong words spoken are better than the right ones unsaid. Don't let today pass without saying them.
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