I’m 35 years old. Not a day goes by where I don’t want my momma. I want to call her and tell her some gossip. I’d love to share a laugh with her for some ridiculous idea she’s come up with. I want her to show up at my house uninvited and complain that my floors are dirty. (Two dogs and a kid, people!) When I laugh because my dogs tripped me on a run, I want to call her and hear her laugh so loud, she snorts.
I’m 35 years old. I don’t need my momma. I get by, for the most part, some days better than others.
I’m not really sure when I stopped needing my mom. Maybe it was when I moved out of her house during college; it could possibly have been when I got married. Either way, I didn’t get to decide. February 1, 2011 is the day the need went away, and the want came bearing down to stay. When my mom passed away, life changed in so many ways. It’s hard to put into words (it’s even hard to type with blurry, water filled eyes).
I want my mom to tell me all of the things I’m doing wrong, even if she’s wrong. I want my mom to babysit my son. I want my mom to be there for my sister when she gets married. I want my mom to celebrate her next birthday and to be able spoil her on Mother’s Day. I want my mom to hug me on my worst days, and I don’t even like hugs.
When your mom dies, regardless of your relationship with her, life changes. Even if you did still need her, you have to find someone else to fill the void. But you never stop wanting her, in some capacity. Whether it’s for a family recipe, an address to mail a card, or hug that you secretly dislike but it’s your momma’s hug.
I don’t need my mom. I want her. Every second of every single day.
