I miss my mother
by Sue Perreca
My mother died on June 26 at 11:45am. My father, her husband of 58 years and her four children were at her bedside after having spent the night with her in her hospice room.
She was the only person in the world to me. Everyone else was just not her. It's hard to explain.
A few years before she died, the realization that it was coming--the world without my mother. Could the world even exist? Could I breathe without her? I just could not image her not being at the house, or on the other end of the phone. I could not imagine my father without her. As my father said last week, "Mommy doesn't die; other people die but not Mommy." Yeah, that about says it all.
My mother who was so filled with life--all its pain, fear, joy, brilliance--does not die. But she did. She ended. She is no more. Nobody will make me laugh the way she did; nobody will love me the way she did---nobody.
The pain of loss is particularly acute tonight what makes it so bad is that she is the only one I want to tell about how much I miss my mother.