Mom, I Miss You.

2 Years. 17,520 Hours.

Sometimes it feels like a long time. Ages, even.

And then, on days like today, it feels like nothing. Seconds.

I still can't believe you're not here anymore.

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I always wonder if there is something wrong with me. Everywhere I turn, people always tell me: "she's always with you." "You are never alone."

And in my heart, I believe it. I hold onto it. Even though, in my head, I didn't get it. I didn't "feel" it.

Signs. Proof. As a person who is skeptical, I'm always looking for it. I look for butterflies. Bright flowers. Rays of sunshine. Anything...

I'm ashamed to admit I couldn't find it. The sign. The little piece of something tangible that proves you're still here. Still with me.

Last night, I picked up my phone as I was going to bed. Instead of the time on the screen, there was a picture. It took me a second to figure out what it was. It was a picture of your headstone. Clear as day, a sign.

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There are so many reasons I miss you.

I miss you because you made our family even. Being outnumbered by boys and testosterone sucks. They just don't get it.

I miss you because you always knew the right thing to say. It's just what moms do.

I miss waking up on Saturday morning and shopping without a purpose. It's not the same without you.

I miss having the glue that holds our family together. You were the one who made all of us make sense.

But most of all, more than anything, I miss that things keep happening without you here. I miss the fact that you'll never know my future husband, whoever he is. I miss that you won't pick out my wedding dress. I miss the fact that I might have kids someday, and you won't be knitting them baby blankets. I miss that you can't tell me to grow up, or get a life, or get a job. I just miss you.

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If I could have anything in the world, any one thing, I know what I'd pick in an instant.
I would have you here, rubbing my hair and my back while I cry. Telling me that it's ok to cry, but that everything's going to be ok. There's no substitute. No friends or boyfriend or relative can do it the way you do, the way a mother does. Moms don't look away, or wish they were somewhere else, or wish I'd get over it already.

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If you're reading this, I apologize that it's a jumble of... everything. I could probably write it for days and never finish.

But I do have one important thing to say. If you're reading this, I need you to listen.

Take that picture today. One of you and the kids, or of you and your parents. Of you and your mom, you and your BFF, you and your sister. You may not look the way you want to look, and you may not be as skinny as you could be/should be... but it doesn't matter. That picture might someday be worth the whole world to someone, so don't let the moment pass you by.

Sarah and Mom, August 2007. Our last picture.

Hug everyone you love just a little bit closer today. For me.

You can read last year's post here.