Come back Mom!
(Seattle, WA, USA)
Mom, I miss you so much. Thirty-three is too young to be in the world by myself, although I realize there are younger out there. I know you never meant to leave me; I'm not sure whether or not you knew when you were going when you died unexpectedly to me 12/30 or
12/31 2013. Finding you face down and cold somehow wasn't unexpected, but it was a nightmare that still haunts me. I will never know what your last thoughts were and I want to know them each and every day.
You were and are my best friend. I looked forward to talking to you every night before bed. Although you couldn't reach me as often as you liked or should have been able, I was able to awaken you from a nap or anything to get you to talk to me about my problems. You helped me with my problems -- interjecting yourself into my social disputes and other areas of my life with you impeccable charm. , you came over and did my dishes and I never did that for you, even though you were the chronically ill one. I say you still are my best friend, because I don't do anything without running it past my memory of you. Sometimes your imagined responses even make me laugh. I feel like there is so much I failed to do -- please forgive me. I wish I had been more mature.
Mom, you promised me when you died that you would prove to me you went on and that there was an afterlife. It is true that more unexplained things have happened in the last six months then probably in the rest of my life put together. That crow that somehow came into the house, the smell of perfume, dreams I and others have had about you, all the pennies you believed were signs of guardian angels turning up in all the places, once or twice even out of thin air -- some of these things defy explanation entirely, and others merely call into doubt conventional answers, making their likelihood all the less.
I don't know if you're behind all that or whether one person in the afterlife could do.
The point is, I believe, but it only matters so much. Among other things, I believe that I will be stuck on this earth another fifty years before I can join the party you appear at in people's dreams. Some days, I yell and scream and cry and think that I am entitled to a response. If I just throw a big enough fit, you will come and pay attention to me. How preschool. Other days, I just want to crawl into to the grave next to you.
Most days, I have a the outward appearance of the happy, optimistic person everyone has always believed I am. But the truth is, underneath it all, a biological clock is ticking. I never used to pay attention to it, but now I listen and hope the rhythm will pick up -- all I look forward to is being in heaven with you for eternity when I get there. Please, let's never leave when I get there.
If mothers and sons can form some kind of platonic soul mate, than surely we will do that. Everything until then is time and tears (and other things that fill the void by necessity).