How can it have been that long since I was able to have a normal conversation with my mom? That is a very long time.
The worst part is the split seconds where I forget any of it happened, when I think "oh I'll ask mom" or "oh I cant wait to tell mom". Or if I wake from a dream where something has happened to someone and she was there, there is a second where I feel the relief that nothing happened to that person, that it was all a dream, but then I realize that though the other person is fine, that my mom is in fact, gone. It's like losing her all over again.
I miss the way she would always answer the phone.
I miss the smell of her jacket, a strange combination of buckskin, cinnamon gum and cigarettes.
I miss being able to call her and talk about nothing at all.
Most of the time I can't really fathom that she is no longer here. I think she is still in her little purple and green house tucked away in Nelson. The reality is so different. Her spirit is somewhere else and her body is in a tiny black box on a book shelf at my dad's. I was shocked at how small the box is that holds her remains. At least that's what I'm assuming was in the little, no descript black box, surrounded by pictures of her that I happened to notice one day last summer. It's such a small box. How can the immensity of everything that was my mom's body be in such a tiny little box?
I wish I believed in Heaven. I wish I knew where she was. I know people say she is "with me wherever I go" and I know what they mean, but I don't know if that's how I feel about it. I wish I knew what she believed, I feel like whatever she believed is where she is now.
I think about her everyday. It feels like there is a black hole in my chest, in my heart, that can never be filled. I just want my mom to take care of me. I want her to tell me it will all be ok. I want her to come back.
That's all I want, I just want her to come back.