Void

Hi Mommy,

I made potato salad today. It’s the second time since we lost you. It seems so silly, but it reminds me of you. We always took pride in how good our potato salad was. I haven’t made any deviled eggs yet. Too soon, I think. Don’t worry, though. I promise I won’t ever use Miracle Whip in place of mayonnaise. Not only would you roll over, but Aunt Linda might make a special trip down to give me a boot in the backside. Too hot to make chili. Trying to figure out how to make our chili without meat. I’m fairly certain you would not approve, no matter what I come up with.

Probably also seems silly that I usually called you Mommy. Sometimes called you Mom. Never, ever called you Mother. I remember one of your birthdays when someone (not me) ordered a cake for you and it said, “Happy Birthday, Mother.” I kept thinking, “Who calls you ‘mother??’” Fairly certain not one of us four kids ever called you that. I seem to remember that whenever you got a card from your mom, she signed it “mother.” I also seem to recall that you wondered why she would sign it that way when you never called her “mother” either.

Every day, I run across something I did or saw or read and I think, “I’ve got to tell Mom this.” Then I remember. I feel the void. Somedays it feels like a giant chasm has opened up that I can’t cross and I can’t fill in. I know it’s only been a little over a month, but coming from a family that has been all, “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps,” it feels like I’m somehow failing because I am still grieving. Honestly, I can’t really believe that you’re gone. It feels like you are still here. In me, I guess.

Ray came to see me yesterday for no other reason than to see the camper and have lunch with me. I have often wondered if, after you were gone, my brothers would keep in touch with me. Why? I don’t know, I guess because they are technically my half brothers and I feel like I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove to them that I wasn’t some spoiled second marriage child. That I’m not a child at all anymore. That I’m worth knowing and, quite frankly, a lot of fun to be around. You’re not here anymore to reassure me about that.

Are you with Daddy? With your mom and dad? With your beloved siblings, Carl, Barb, and Rick, that passed before you? Are you with your granddaughter, Ryan? I hope you are. I hope you are joyful. I hope you are without pain and without sorrow and having the time of your life. Erm...well, not life. Afterlife, I guess. Then again, maybe the afterlife is the true life and what we have here is just a sort of dress rehearsal.

I also hope you know that I’m doing okay, but that I miss you terribly. That I’d give anything to get a text from you about anything. That I would so much like to hug you and kiss your cheek.

Love and miss you, Mommy.

XX