For the past two days, I've wanted to talk to you more than ever. We are having some middle school issues, and I never dreamed that middle school would be much more difficult the second time around. It's harder to be the parent than to be the kid. That's something they don't tell you when you embark on the parenting adventure. It's something I never dreamed possible as I remember middle school and most of high school being pretty terrible.
So we've had these issues, and I find myself talking to a lot of people about it, mulling over details and exploring ways to handle things. And every time I finished talking with someone about it, I found myself thinking the same thing: Mama would know exactly what to do.
And you would. You would have listened, absorbed the information, talked it through with me, and helped me figure out what to do. And even though I'm positive I came up with the same conclusion that we would have come to together, I desperately miss the process with you. On top of that, you always had a way of making me feel sure of myself and my decision. Now that you're gone, I second guess myself way more than before.
This is going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. Just like parenting, grief has proven to be way more difficult than I expected. No one prepares you for the tears that hit at the most inconvenient moments or for the loneliness that wells up inside you when you're in a crowded room. But no one can. Just like parenting, if it's something you haven't experienced, then you just have no clue. And it's almost better not knowing before hand just how hard it will be, just going into it completely blind and clueless.
It hit me in the shower yesterday afternoon as the hot water rinsed away the grime of a day's worth of living that parenting will be harder now that you're not here. You were my sounding board, my confidant. You always gave me the best advice and helped me find the answers I needed. And there are so many parenting experiences ahead of me in which I will find myself thinking Mama would know what to do. They will drive, and I will fret. They will fall in love, and my heart will ache. They will start out on their own, and I will have a hollow in my soul. And I always thought you would be there helping me sort it all out. But you won't.
I know I can do this. That's not at question at all. But it's hard, and I wish I had your voice in my ear just helping me through. That's the way it should be. Daughters should have their mothers much longer than I had you. But we can't change that.
So I am thankful I have enough of your spirit inside me, enough words stored up to know pretty much what you would have said or suggested. That's what keeps me sane these days. And I can hear you tell me that I am doing just fine. I can still hear it sometimes.
Miss you much.