Mother’s Day for the Motherless.

91 days.

That’s it. 91 days and already it feels like the world has moved on and I am stuck in quicksand, panicked and struggling against a force that slowly suffocates me.

Today is Mother’s Day. A beautiful day for so many of my friends and family. So many amazing moms and grandmas in my life who I want to call and text and tell them what a great job they are doing. How amazing they are - doing the hardest job in the world.  

But I can’t.

Because you are the only person in this entire universe I want to talk to right now. I want to tell you what an amazing mom you are. How grateful I am for everything you have done for me – for loving me through every terrible mistake I’ve made. For making me feel loved, cherished and smart. For teaching me the value of patience and forgiveness. For giving up everything to make sure we had something. For saving your pathetic teacher’s salary to make sure we didn’t have any college debt. For every time your heart broke with mine. For making me feel beautiful when I felt flawed and unloved. For everything you gave up to be at every game, every concert, every recital and graduation, and significant event. For every tear you shed for me, for every phone call and “just because” card you sent. I want to tell you how much I love you. And how much I miss you.

I wrote you a card today. I have nowhere to mail it too, so it’s just sitting next to my flower urn, the only piece of you I have left. I wanted to tell you how much I miss the sound of your voice, the love that I felt with each and every one of your hugs. That no matter how many days pass by, that you will never be forgotten. I wanted to tell you that I still reach for my phone, to call and tell you about my bad day or something funny that happened. I wanted to tell you how badly I wish for a do-over. A chance to relive the last year and make sure to tell you every single day what you mean to me and what an amazing mom you are.

I know you’ll never get to read it – but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop talking to you or about you. Just because you died, it doesn’t mean you are gone. And I refuse to act like you were never here just to avoid making people uncomfortable - even if they can’t understand how I am “still” so upset.

Survival can’t happen in a world where we have to lie about our own hearts or pretend we’re more in control than we are. Because the truth is – I don’t feel like I am in control of anything.

The truth is… this hurts.

It hurts every morning when I wake up and realize you’re not here all over again.

I need you. And when you left, you took so much with you. You took my confidant. My secret keeper. My friend. My therapist. My rock.

My heart is having a really, really hard time.

If I had one wish, just one, it would be to spend today with you. To laugh with you, to share a bottle of wine, and then hug you goodbye while you yell “love you more” as I pull out of your drive.

But I know that wish will never come true. So today, in honor of you, I dragged myself out of bed to indulge in all of your favorites. Miranda on vinyl, a lobster tail soaked in butter, spice drops for dessert, and plenty of sauvignon blanc to cheers you with. Sorry, I splurged a little and went for a bottle because honestly, a box of “crisp white” Franzia just wasn’t going to cut it.

I miss you, mom. Every day – but today especially.