Missing Mom - It's the Little Things

Mom's been gone a little over four months. While numerically I know that's true, time is not kept the same in a heart. Some days I feel like she must have been gone at least a year. Other days I think I should call and catch up, then almost instantly remember this is not an option. 

Although I miss seeing Mom, even more than the face-to-face interactions, I miss the little things. I'm driving to work and want to call and say hi. The rosebush she gave us for our Isabella garden bloomed again and I want to send her a photo. I'm at the beach while my husband is in a conference and I want to talk to her while I walk barefoot in the surf. Work unexpectedly started three weeks early and I want to process these changes with her. 

My husband and I ordered some new furniture, gave some old furniture to Dad, and ended up with my mom's old bed. It's now in the nursery and still smells like her. Sometimes I'm caught off guard by the olfactory memories that assail me walking down the hall. 

Both of my sisters celebrated birthdays recently, the first birthdays since Mom died. We all ached with the knowledge that she would never again sing Happy Birthday to us on the phone.

My heart becomes heavier when I see a grandmother with her daughter and grandchild. Even if we have more children, I will never go to the store, zoo, or park with my mom and my child. I will never be able to call her and ask for parenting advice or check when we met our developmental milestones. I miss the little things we had and the things we will never share. Her absence is keenly felt, daily.