Post-Mother’s Day

It’s Mother’s Day. It’s a day of breakfasts in bed and handprint art projects, of last minute flower arrangements and sappy social media posts. It’s a day where Hallmark and the entire rest of the world remind you to appreciate your mom.
I require no such reminders. Not only due to the morbid fact that I don’t have a mom anymore, but because I appreciate her now more than ever before.
I knew Mother’s Day would be tough this year. I mean, d’uh. But knowing that something is going to suck doesn’t reeeeally make it suck less.
If my mom was still here, I probably would have re-posted one of the five or six pictures of us that I had in my possession with a caption about my favorite “crazy lady”. I would have ended it with “ti amo”. That’s how we ended most of our conversations.
It’s how I still end them. Because I talk to her a lot. After a lifetime of relying on her to listen to me wax poetic over every inconsequential inconvenience I suffered, I’m not sure how to stop. I miss her talking back though. I miss that a lot.
It’s been nearly eleven weeks since my mom died.
Eleven weeks is a long time. It’s long enough that the calendar has changed over three times. Long enough that the snows have all melted and my daffodils have come and gone. Long enough that the world has emphatically moved on and long enough that for the most part, it expects me to have done the same.
Eleven weeks is a short time. Short enough that we haven’t even ordered a headstone yet. Short enough that I still have the box full of pictures from the wake sitting on my dryer. Short enough that her name still pops up when I go to call a 781 number. Short enough that sometimes, even despite my best efforts, I forget that she’s gone.
That might be the hardest part in a sea of unspeakably hard parts. Every so often, I’ll read a headline or hear a song and make a mental note to bring it up the next time I talk to her. And then it hits me. It hits me so, so hard.
My mom and I were not the Gilmore Girls. We spent more of the thirty-one years we had together at odds than in harmony. Still, she was my best friend. And I miss my best friend.
Ti amo, mom. Happy Mother’s Day.

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