I've got a hundred things swirling about in my head...all things I want to say to you...yet none of them seems "just right".
I wish I could talk to you...
I wish I could see your face...
I wish I could hold your hand...
I wish I could rub my nose on the smoothness of your cheek, leaning in for just one more kiss.
To say I wish "for one more day with you" is a gross understatement. Yes, I wish for one more day...and then one more day after that...and then another...and another...and another.
You used to say to us, "One day I'll be gone, and you won't be able to do this for me"...and we would laugh...and you would laugh...and it would be more of a joke than anything else. Except now you really are gone...and I'd give almost anything to DO anything for you.
People say, "Your mom wouldn't want you to be sad"...but they don't know you very well. You wanted us to be sad you were gone. At least that's what you said. I think I see that all much more clearly now, though. I don't think you wished this sadness, this sorrow, this pain for any of us. I think you just wanted the reassurance that we would miss you...that your presence would be longed for...that your absence would be felt keenly.
Mom, oh how I miss you.
I miss your smile...the way it encompassed your entire face, all the way up to your eyes...so much so that you'd become exasperated with how "squinty" your eyes looked in pictures...all because your smile was so vast.
I miss your hands. I used to love the way that you and I held hands...even through my adulthood. You had strong hands, working hands, loving hands. My last picture of you is of your hands.
I miss your voice. I miss talking with you. It's been two years, and I still have to bring myself to an abrupt halt when my natural instinct kicks in to "call Mom and tell her..."
I miss your advice...the asked-for...and the un-asked-for. And now, I'm two years older and two years wiser...and I already realize that I was silly to resent some of the un-asked-for advice. You were just being a mom. I knew that. I know that. I miss that. I miss the one person I always knew I could call...one of the kids has a weird rash--oh! I'll call Mom, she'll know what it is. My chili doesn't have its usual robust flavor--I'll call Mom, she'll know what to add. I miss that. Google is a poor substitute.
I miss your ears. I miss the willing listener that you were. You knew when I needed to vent...and sometimes, you'd chime right in with me.
Even now, as I write this out, I feel so silly...so inept. I can't put the big-ness of what I feel into words. To say I miss you seems so trite...so small...so insignificant to the huge, overwhelming, overtaking feeling inside of me.
Today marks two years that you've been gone.
Two. Long. Years.
It feels like it's been ten. Maybe twenty. Certainly more than two.
The feeble insecurities of this Earth are far behind you...
I just wanted to let you know...
Just in case you ever wonder...
I miss you.
More than one hundred million words could ever say.
And I love you.
Most of all, I love you.
March 22, 1954 ~ October 29, 2010