One year ago today my mom passed away. I think I remember every single detail of that day, and I can’t believe it’s already been a year. So much has happened to me in that year, and it’s crazy to think that my mother wasn’t there for it. Except that I believe she was. You know what I mean. Whatever.
I was lyng in bed last night crying and meditating and praying and talking to her, and what I kept thinking is that nobody is ever going to love me like that again. And then I tried to tell myself that wasn’t true, blah blah blah. But you know what? It is true. Nobody will ever love me like that again. That’s just the way a mother’s love is.
I know my dad loves me. It’s also his birthday today. Go figure. I’m not sure if that’s some cruel twist of fate that his birthday will forever be to me the day my mother died. I wonder if she did it on purpose. They had been divorced for 40 years. Maybe she wanted me always to remember on this day that she left this earth, I still have a father who loves me.
I have family who love me. I have friends who love me. I’ve dated and married and lived with men who loved me. But none of them love me like Mom loved me. I don’t love any of them in exactly the same way I loved her.
Then I realized, I shouldn’t say, “loved” in the past tense. I still love her. I’ll always love her. And I believe that the love she had for me isn’t gone either. As I sat in bed petting Daisy I realized, all the love I feel in this lifetime is there because Mom first loved me.
I begged her last night to give me a sign today. A sign that she’s okay. That she loves me. That she’s still here. A few days after she died, I begged the same thing of her. That night I had a very vivid dream that she was waving at me and smiling.
I sort of expected something similar today. Instead, what I got was a voice telling me, “You don’t need a sign. Everything is a sign. Every time you think of me, that’s a sign. Every time something reminds you of me, that’s a sign. Every time you feel love, it’s a sign. Every time you use your intelligence, or your creativity, or your inner strength, that’s a sign.”
All of those things are proof that she was here on this earth. They’re proof that her life mattered. They’re proof of all the precious, priceless gifts she gave me. I’m truly grateful for every one of them, today and every day.
But today, a little more than other days, I really miss my mommy.