I want my mommy


Grief is an amazing thing. It changes so drastically from moment to moment, year to year. As time moves (and it’s true, time heals) the grief has changed. Its sharp edges soften, but the deep ache grows. It grow in connection with the time that has passed; the changes that have occurred while that person has not been around to see them.

I look for my mother every day and every day I see her. In the obstinate stance of my puppy not ready to go home, the ready laugh and eager smile of my dad surrounded by people that love him, the sound of my dear sisters voice, in a job well done or an object well loved.

I am so grateful that I can see these things and think of her with a dull ache to remind me that she was real, she was my heart and will continue to be so. That life, as always marches on and her light is not diminished. 

The truth is, I’m 32 years old and I want my mommy. I can put so many words, elegant and beautiful words, but the stark truth is, I want my mommy. 

You’d think after nearly 7 years, it would get easier, and it has, but every once in a while, the pain hits me, white hot, straight through my chest and all I can think is ‘I want my mommy’. It is not coherent, it is primal. While I do intellectually understand why the need is so intense, I can’t really understand it. I’m not sure anyone really understands that desperate, soul-deep, in your very cells kind of love that one has for their mother. 

The worst is when I read a book or see a tv show or movie where there is a scene with a girl and her mother and some vile part of me thinks, ‘that bitch’ but i can’t look away. I can’t stop watching the representation of love there because while crying curled into the fetal position on your bed might be the worst, at least I get to feel the pain of loss. It reminds me that I had something to lose. 

Seven years ago, on the first Tuesday in June, my father called me at 8 in the morning. I barely remember the conversation honestly. I remember the shock, the blankness in his voice, the crashing in feeling, the unbelievable pressure in my chest and then just dissolving into tears. I’m pretty sure he said ‘Mom died’. 

You always hear about that moment when life changes so drastically that its like you got T-boned at an intersection or shot, well, I have to say, its weirdly true. I can really divide my life into while my mom was alive and after her death. I have been able to handle it relatively well. I don’t know why I got so lucky, or what it is in my mettle that allowed me the strength to keep going and not let this destroy my life, but every once in a while, I give in to the debilitating sobs, the body wracking crying that just takes over. It's less and less often and thats all you can ask for. 

But the truth remains. I want my mommy. And I think I always will.