Monday, April 4, 2016

I miss the smell of her cigarettes

 

I have tried for months to write about my mom. I never get past the first few lines. But I keep trying, because I know I have a lot of emotions and things I want to say. 

I miss her. Everyone keeps telling me it will get easier with time but I honestly think it's getting harder with time. Part of me feels like she is in treatment for a few months and she lost her phone privileges. Growing up a child of an addict, that actually happens. It has happened more than once in my lifetime. 

But with each passing day reality sets in that she is not in treatment, she did not lose her phone privileges and she really is gone.  

She's gone. 

I talk to her all the time. While I'm at home, when I'm driving, sometimes even when I'm walking through target. I feel like she hears me, but I would give anything for her to answer back. I listen to her voicemails all the time. Just to hear her voice, her take a drag of her cigarette and just to feel like she's replying to a message I just left her. 

I miss her smell the most. And anyone who truly knows me KNOWS I am the worst ex smoker on the planet and the smell of smoke is disgusting. BUT I miss the smell of her cigarettes. 

I miss so many things. I miss her calling to tell me to DVR some show on my DVR cause she couldn't figure hers out. I miss her talking baby talk to my cat aka her grand cats. I miss her guacamole. I miss her laugh. I miss playing cards with her. I miss cooking with her. I miss talking to her the most. 

I miss having a mom.

 She was the only parent I had and it's a shitty feeling when you realize you have no parents left. I don't care how old you are, you always want your mom. Every time I am sick or I had a fright with a friend or I found a new thing at target, I want to call her and tell her. 

Last summer I told her I met Mike. I didn't know him really well at the time so I didn't tell her much. I do remember telling her about his New Yorker accent and she told me "you would do well with a New Yorker." She never saw a picture of him and she never got to meet him. That will break my heart forever. 

Sometimes I play how I think them meeting would go in my head. I know she would have loved him. I know she would have asked him the most inappropriate questions and showed him the worst pictures of me in existence. I know she would have told him how desperately she wanted grandkids at to early and scared the crap out of him. I just know they would have hit it off. 

I still have a hard time driving by her apartment. I can't go into her old work. I struggle listening to some of her favorite songs. And I still can't throw away this ugly rug she gave me, it's still in my room. 

Will this ever get easier, I don't know. All I know is that I struggle every single day. I miss her. 

I miss having a mom. 

That's all I can say right now.