I lift the bags of groceries into the trunk of the van while my son plays in the back seat. He turns to me and flops his toothpick arms over the last row. He looks at me with eyelashes implausibly long and rests his cheek on his shoulder. With a casualness he’d use to ask me if I’d like to do a puzzle with him when we get home, he says, “Do you still miss your mom?”
My mom passed away almost twenty years ago.
Grief is an animal you cannot tame. He is a duplicitous companion who lies quietly for years, then eviscerates you as you load up groceries while your six year old watches.
I walk into the small, wood-paneled room in the basement. “Hold on,” I say quietly into the phone as I turn to close the door behind me. A black file cabinet anchors the back corner of the room, across from a wall of full book shelves, from floor to ceiling. My mom’s computer sits idle on the desk next to the old kitchen cabinets we now use for storage. Alone in this cordoned room, with my best friend on the other line, I cradle the phone to my ear and begin to pace.
“I need to tell you something.”
. . .
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~ If you know a mom who has lost her mom and may need to know she isn’t alone in her mixed feelings during Mother’s Day, please consider sharing this with her. ~