I bought some cherry cough drops today, and they always make me think about you.
You hated cherry flavored anything. And any time you were offered something cherry flavored, you would remind me of why. You got so sick one year and ate so many cherry cough drops that you developed an aversion to the artificial flavor.
Funny thing is that I think I remember when you got sick that time. I have this memory of me having a softball game and you being so sick that you couldn't come. This was incredibly unusual because you never missed anything. When I got home, I went back to room to tell you about the game, and you were in the bed. That was unusual, too. You weren't a lay around in the bed kind of woman, so when you did, it meant you really didn't feel well.
Cherry cough drops. It's always the little things that leave me standing or sitting somewhere complete speechless, breathless, missing you so much it feels like I could break in two. Sometime right around Thanksgiving, I felt this same way as I saw the little round ornament shaped Coke bottles that are only sold during the holidays. You always bought those at Christmas time.
It's the blue bird that flew across the back yard a week ago. Cherry cough drops. Little Cokes. Christmas ornaments. It's the movie Marley and Me that's on TV right now. It's you. Every where. You are every where but no where at all. And that's the hard part, you know? That where you really are is so intangible. Real but untouchable. And so I get these little glimpses here and there, and they are never enough.
Oh, Mama. Everything was better with you here. And I am still trying to accept the fact that you aren't here anymore. Almost two years later, and it's still sinking in.
But we are making it. We are moving forward and living life. Maybe I get a little down from time to time. It's hard not to. But I'm doing the best I can. And so is everyone else. I don't think we will ever get used to you not being here, though.
I love you, Mama.
Your little girl.