My mom has been gone for just over 3 months now. Each day seems to be a different feeling. Easier, no, different from the day before, yes. Some days I wake up and immediately think of her, and other days a random occurence will remind me of a memory we shared. It’s still as hard as ever thinking of the times we once shared.

I leave work. It has been a hectic day and all I want to do is call you. All I want so badly is to hear your voice. Mom, you had the best voice. So soothing. It was like no matter what I had going on you could talk me down. I pick up my phone and hit my favorites, and listed at the top is you, mom. I still haven’t been able to hit that delete contact button. Even though your phone is shut off and I no longer can her your voicemail, I dial it anyway. I put the phone down and continue on with my day, but part of me wishes you would call me back. I wish deeply they had a phone in heaven. Some magical long distance phone line to reach you.

In three months my life has changed a lot. I am doing the balancing act of working full-time and learning how to be a mom. Mixed in with all of that is missing my person. On the daily my life feels like a sad song. Missing you, being down, being happy, than sad all over again. Therapy has helped, but NOTHING will take away the mere fact you are gone.

Three months has changed other people’s lives a lot too. No one seems to remember you like I do. That’s not true. I bet others think about you, but we don’t seem to talk about it. How did it go from everyone talking about you to just nothing. I want to tell everyone it’s okay to talk about you. I miss you. I miss people remembering you. All I have to hold on to is my memories of you, and everyone’s memories they share of you.

Sometimes when I think about talking about you I have to take a deep breath. I get nervous that everyone will think, “Oh Brittany, just stop. Yeah she’s gone. It’s been months, so get over it.” Maybe not as brutal as that, but pretty close. Maybe people don’t know what to say to me. That’s okay too. I just want to remember you, and hopefully someday replace the memories of you being sick with the beautiful, sweet, fun times we shared together as mother and daughter.

I know it is okay to say that I am motherless. Some people say you never are, that your mother is always there. Really you aren’t. You are gone. I hate that. I hope someday you visit me. Whether in my dreams or in a different way, I want so badly to see or hear you again. Sometimes I plead with God. I pray to him that I would be the best I could be if he let me have you back. I know it is not going to happen. Maybe you can hear me though, mom. Maybe you here the conversations I have out loud while talking to you in heaven. I pray you do. I miss you so.