2 Years Gone Tomorrow

Missing my momma today (not like I don’t miss her every day–I do, but today is different.)

 

I’m to that place where I know nothing will bring her back.  I’m at that step when you accept that the person you love, your mother, your best friend, is never coming back.

 

I’m not telling sweet stories about how everything is going to be okay, because it would’ve been better with her here, us telling stories to each other about the last adventure and mishap we went through.

 

The hole doesn’t get smaller, you just get used to it as you walk through your day, always a little more empty than you were before she died.

 

2 years gone tomorrow.  I wish I could wish you back.

 

But you’re gone. And I know that.  And I’ll still make you proud momma.  I’ll still keep trying to fix everything and enjoy life while I’m at it.

 

I’ll still keep holding you, your memories, your lessons, your love with me forever (or for my forever—as long as that may be.)

 


 

No one knew how to make me feel better like my momma did.

 

I’ve dealt with depression probably since middle school, I just didn’t realize it was depression until I was an adult.

 

At night when I was a kid I used to get sad and I didn’t know why. I would usually find my mother, or buzz her on the intercom from the basement and tell her that I wasn’t feeling well.  She’d come down to my room and I’d tell her how overwhelmed and bad I felt. She would always hold me and tell me that it’s okay to cry. “Sometimes we just get full of emotions and have to let them out.”

 

I still struggle with my emotions, usually now it’s in the morning; not wanting to get out of bed because what’s the point. She used to make me get up too ( I always hated that) and would tell me, “Don’t waste the daylight!”  Now I have a guilt complex about sleeping in, even though I do it all the time.  But it can be a good voice in there too, telling me to live this life and not let the dark thoughts and corners eat me up.

 

“Get out there and do something!”

Not today though mom.  Today I’m going to sit inside, cry, and remember you.

And I think you would say that’s okay, and want to hold me if you could.

Loved and remembered. Carol Ann (Comstock) Weiss ~ January 22 1953 - August 26 2014
Loved and remembered.   Carol Ann (Comstock) Weiss ~ January 22 1953 – August 26 2014