I still miss you. I still hate the month before mother's day when every website, piece of junk mail, and email remind me to do something special for you. I still hate going to church and having people pray for moms, be thankful for all you've done, and then neglect to mention how painful or difficult or anxiety-producing a day like this can be for some of us, for many different reasons. Today the pastor praying even thanked God for the privilege of taking care of our moms when they get older, the way they cared for us when we were young. It's a privilege I wish I could have, but won't. I'd give almost anything to be able to spend that much time with you again. Instead, I took the day off, I wandered around a city I love, I stared at tulips, I ate lunch with friends, I played Wii Bowling for the first time (and I'm still terrible, even when it's not real), I read about amazing women who are changing the world. I cried a little, I talked to family, I remembered the time I threw up rhubarb in grandma's bathroom sink and got in trouble for throwing up in the sink.
I also remember how fab you were, and am thankful for the time I did have with you, though I wish there was lots more of it. And I remembered all the "extra moms" I've had, people you talked to too, people you entrusted me to, people who nurtured and taught and helped and extended grace when I needed it. They were, and are, awesome women that I do not keep in touch with the way I should. Too bad I didn't get your letter writing gene.
I don't really know what else to say, except thanks, and I love you.