I was sleeping on a tiny chair in my aunt’s room and my grandmother woke me up to tell me. I looked at her for a second or two and responded with “Okay”. I already knew she was gone.   The doctors had done the last call for family and friends the night before. She had been in the hospital since Christmas Day.

After my grandma gave me the news I stared into space for about ten seconds, I cried confusingly for about another fifteen and then I stared off into space again for I don’t remember how long this time. I knew these things happened to people. I never once thought that it couldn’t happen to me but I also don’t ever really remember putting much thought into the fact that it could happen either.

She was gone. I lost my mom, then I lost my home, and for a very brief moment I thought I lost my mind.

I decided to to hang up a painting of my mother for Mother’s Day. I’ve never had pictures of her hanging up in my home. Partly because she HATED pictures and they are few and far between…but mostly because I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready.

Losing my mother isn’t something that I talk about with anyone. Aside from a quick blurb every now and again I prefer not to talk about her at all, in fact. It’s a subject matter that puts me in the most vulnerable state I can ever be in. A state of being that I only share with those that I plan on keeping in my life forever.

Today and everyday I miss her.

I miss her soft skin and curly hair.

How she danced around the house, danced in the car, and made the car dance too.

The crazy laugh she had that was often imitated but never duplicated.

I miss all of the times my friends came over to see me in hopes that she would be there too so that they could leave with words of wisdom.

Her crazy punishments that we manage to talk about every Thanksgiving.

I miss the 90s house parties she would let my cousin throw before the carpets would get cleaned.

Her sharp wit and ability to never take anything too seriously.

I miss all of the times she made us sing 3-part harmony in every family setting…even if I hated it at the time but I miss the sound of her singing anywhere and everywhere.

But what I miss most is that she was and still is the most genuinely loving person I’ve known. She never lived her life to please. She gave openly and honestly, expecting nothing more than a “thank you” in return and I thank her for teaching me how important that really is.

She taught a lot of us to be strong,  self sufficient and true to ourselves.  I know that I will never get over it but because of her lessons I have and will continue to get through it.

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