I have traveled so much this summer.
When I traveled in the past, I would always call my mom. No matter where I was, if there was something amazing that I just couldn't believe, my mom was the first person I wanted to tell. It was as if she was the marker. She is what made it real ...if I could tell her and describe it and share it with her...she would put it in the bank...the bank of memories. The bank where I had a special joint account with only my mother.
I have missed my mom so much. I could be dramatic and tell you how many days she's been gone...but to be honest, I haven't counted. I just know that when I look up and there is something I need to tell her, I can't hear her voice. Days don't matter anyway. I just miss her voice.
I see a lace pattern. When you take away the faded lace, what is left is the structure... the design. Now that she is gone, her absence has left the pattern of me and all that I am. I find I miss the structure... even though I am the design. I miss the security.
I miss hearing my mom say "Hey, Sugar".
Does it make me childish that I know no one will love me as much as my mom did?
On my flight to England there were patches of green everywhere. They were so beautiful. Then as I flew further there were patches of purple mixed in. It was lavender, and I needed to tell mom how amazing they were. She would have loved it.
I needed to tell her how the sand on the way to Morocco changed from clay to pink and back to clay colors,
and how much I miss my children as they are settled in the towns that they have chosen.
Did she miss me when I grew up?
I want to talk about it.
I need to talk about it.
If you don't mind, Mom, would you rub my head as we talk about it?
Tonight the sunset was beautiful. Every 10 minutes it changed.
A different beautiful shade.
I send these to you.
This is my letter, and as I walk back down the dock and my heart aches for your voice,
I hope you were there and heard me in the sunset.
I was here missing you.