Three years on and there are still moments where I miss my Mom. You do know, don't you, that there were moments where she was just my mom, not the grinding fear she was so much of the time. There were moments when we laughed together at ourselves, moments when when we made a favorite dish we both loved, moments she did step up to the plate and just be my mom.
I miss those moments. I was always hoping for more of those moments.
As the years went by and my care of her grew in time and responsibility, those moments disappeared and now I miss the moments where I protected her from herself and her weakness. I miss walking the aisles at Walmart scanning every shelf for something she needed and grasping triumphant when I found something she just might like.
The moments are fading now like they should, all of them. Except today, in the cool, familiar quiet of this store, where I look back on three years ago today when I sat in the predawn stillness with her broken body waiting for the hospice nurse to officially declare her dead, and when I had her room cleared out by nightfall, all my duties and responsibilities to her nearly done.
Who was that woman who did all those things, how did I ever make it thru, why didn't I do something else, try some other way, break free and demand something more?
How can I explain to anyone that I miss all of it, if only for a moment?
Edit: The first three comments are mine. Worth reading if you're interested, but I left them as comments to keep the time stamps.