It is night again. The house is quiet, the children and husband are sleeping, the gliders are playing. I think about sleep and my mother. She’s been died for some months now. I thought I would never come to terms with not having her in my life, bossy, opinionated, and down right mean some days. I miss her.
I miss her smell and the way she hugged me when I came home to visit or felt sad. She had a way of pushing her love and comfort to where ever and when ever I was. Her love was total, unconditional, smothering, safe, and protective. Before she died, we had several conversations about how she saw her life now as a grandmother and wife of almost 38 years. She told me she felt if she could keep us all in her little bubble that she would be ok. She told me to make sure I get a life outside of the kids and my husband. She said that one day my kids will grow up, move away, and have families of their own. She wanted me to understand that I needed something besides them to live for. Then, she sobbed I miss my momma. Now, I know the pain in her tears that day that longed for her mother’s smell, hugs, and wisdom. I pray that when she closed her eyes for the last time here, she opened her new eyes to her mother smiling with open arms embracing her after a long absence.