If you were still alive, I would call you this morning, or you would call me, and only minutes into the conversation you would ask me what was wrong, say that I sound down. Because I am, and you could always tell by the tone in my voice. I could hide my feelings from anyone but you. And I totally get that now that my kids are getting older. I can tell if something is wrong with them by their body language or how they talk. I know them that well. You knew me that well, too.
I would have to confess that I am down, not about any one particular thing, but more or less a lot of little things that I'm allowing to weigh on me more than I should. We have an abundance of minor repairs that need to be done around the house. There's a freaking dead tree beside my driveway that's been dead for almost a year now that I would chop down myself if I were physically able. The pool is a total disaster with liner issues and the salt generator needs replacing. The septic tank is acting up, and that's just a nightmare in and of itself. And I just sit here in the middle of it with no clue as to where to even begin. I guess the pool is the least of my worries. We know how much the generator will cost, so it will have to wait a month or so. I can control the chlorine levels myself in the traditional way. I need to do a walk around the house and make a list of things that need to be done, one of what I can do myself and another for things that we will have to pay to have done. And the septic tank, well I have modified my washing schedule, and we will try to wait until the fall so the yard won't be a mess all summer long.
Honestly, it's not all these little things that bother me so. I feel so damn lonesome, completely disconnected. And no one around me really has a clue. I know it's because of the time of year... the anniversary of your death just passed, and now Mother's Day is next weekend. I know I get this way, but I still don't know what to do with it all. Where do I put the grief? I can't lay it down and go about my day. I carry it with me. I smile and make jokes and fix lunches and scrub toilets with it all on my shoulders or balanced precariously atop my head. It's at its heaviest right now, and even though I know in a couple of weeks it will be lighter, I won't feel the relief until then.
I just miss you so much right now. I'd love to rewind time, not to be younger but to be able to have a Saturday with you. I would drive down with the kids, and we could go to Dairy Queen. And what a pleasure it would be to go sit in my grandparents' living room with you again, to talk and eat pound cake and drink sweet tea out of those brown plastic cups. And then we could just go back to your house and sit and talk either on the couch or outside on the back deck. It's the simplest things I miss the most, the casual conversation and just being with you. I miss the way you loved me, the way it felt to be your daughter.
I guess I am finally beginning to accept that it is gone. People love to throw those cliche phrases out at me... she will always be with you! She's forever in your heart! But it's all crap. I mean, seriously? You're dead. You aren't with me. You are woven permanently in my spirit, but it's not an experience anymore, only memories. And while memories are wonderful, they are not the real thing. So now I have to accept that my mama is gone. I will live the rest of my life missing our relationship. And to be honest, that really sucks. It hurts and makes me mad at the same time.
I guess I've had a pity party this morning. Time to pull up my boot straps again and get moving. I'm about to go out back and vacuum the pool and get it treated with some chlorine. Then off to Publix, and I desperately need to run by the little vacuum cleaner place to get some bags for my vacuum. And I may run to Lowe's and pick up a few things there. David has friends coming over today, and I'm sure they will stay the night. It's just business as usual around here, but I do it all with a big hole in my heart.
Missing you much today, and loving you always.