“A daughter without her mother is a woman broken. It is a loss that turns to arthritis and settles deep into her bones.”
~ Kristin Hannah, Summer Island
We talked on the phone every day. I’d call her, or she’d call me, and we would chat about nothing in particular.
Then one morning I called and she didn’t answer. I tried again later, and again even later, but there was still no answer. There never was ever again.
Later, after the funeral when I was deeply grieving and overwhelmed with the business that death demands I’d pick up the phone, as I had so many times before, and dial her number.
My mind knew she wasn’t there; but my heart still wondered what if?. I’d lift the receiver to my ear, allow my fingers to dial the familiar number, imagine the yellow telephone on the kitchen counter ringing, and wait in anticipation as I willed her hand to pick up the receiver.
Its been thirty-one years since my mom died suddenly; today marks what would have been her 87th birthday.
I sure miss you, Mom.