As the holidays grow closer, I miss my mom. Last year was our last Thanksgiving together and our last Christmas. And this year, I simply don't want to celebrate.
I miss her smell...she always smelled sweet and powdery. She smelled soft and comforting. Her house smelled the same way. Even though her house wasn't the house I grew up in, it smelled of home because she was there with her perfumes and candles.
I miss shopping with her. It didn't matter if we were buying or not (one of us usually was, though), it was fun to go with her. One of our last shopping trips was to an antique mall. We spent several hours in there, looking at everything, buying only a couple of things, but exploring every square inch of the place. Part of me wants to go back there, to recapture that beautiful, sunny Saturday, to recapture my mom, but I know she's not there.
I miss her stories. I thought I'd paid close attention to all she told me over the course of my life, but there are stories I can't remember. I'm devastated. An entire piece of me is now missing because I didn't write those stories down.
Really, an entire piece of me is missing without my mom here. We never realize how much our parents mean to us until they are no longer here. And then the regrets kick in, the 'if-onlys.' Some days I feel as though I can barely function. I want to call her, to talk to her. I resent how she was taken from us, and yet I know it's silly to feel resentful. It wasn't as though she had a choice.
I still comb my hair and put on lipstick before we go out, just like my mom did. I have a wicked purse collection, like my mom. Of course, most of my purses were my mom's, but we had similar taste in purses and wallets. I've begun working crossword puzzles, another passion of my mom's.
I wish we could talk again.
