Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

Yesterday (because I’m writing at 1 in the morning) was filled with memories. First the haunting memory during Choir as we danced our hearts out to 70s music that constantly make me think of you and how much you looked forward to the concert because I did and how invested you were in the school’s choir because you wanted my senior year to be great. I try to distract myself with the moves and the music but then I remember that it was the first day we learned one of the dances–I was so excited to show you–that I saw for the first time your face still and pale with eyes never to look at me and lips never to grin at me again on this earth. It’s really hard to dance.
Then Joel had pulled out old videos from Mississippi. When I was your “little bald, blue-eyed, button-nosed baby” that smiled so big you couldn’t see my eyes in the camera due to my chubby cheeks rising to my eyebrows (exaggeration of course, but pretty close to accurate). There were a couple of clips that really got me though. One was where I had been pushing around my hexagonal playpen (pretty impressive for a barely-one-year-old) and you were filming. Of course I couldn’t see your face, but that was what got me because it was like I was looking through your eyes as you laughed at my “blue eyes peeping over the top of the pen” and I grinned my face off at you (I wonder why you didn’t just call me “Smiles” instead of “Sunshine”).  Speaking of, the second clip was when, Joel being bored of just sitting and holding me, you held me as I finished my bottle. As you held me, I wasn’t too surprised to hear you begin to sing “You are My Sunshine” softly with that voice I don’t want to ever forget singing that song to me. But then I heard something I hadn’t before: you sang my name in a song and then spelled it out. I have no recollection of you singing that, though I’m sure that wasn’t the only time. Actually, maybe a hint of a memory, but my mind could be playing tricks. Anyways, it was beautiful and I want to hear it again.
Next came the Baccalaureate practice which was bad only because I kept picturing you as having part in it as you had planned. Sometimes I just wish you were here to give me a smile of encouragement to know you’re proud of me. Obviously I do know that and I have plenty of those from Dad too, but you’re my mom, Mom, and even if God says I don’t need you now, I really want you.
Finally, ending the night, was our second Chipotle Fundraiser night. 4-10pm this time because you stood outside the doors literally until closing last time when it was only from 4-8pm. This was probably the least looked forward to of today. The last time I had been to Chipotle was the last fundraiser when every time I glanced out the doors you were out there to catch every single person before they walked in. This time you weren’t there. However–a bittersweet moment–one of the Junior Varsity girls, a freshman, stood at the door from 7 until 9:45 to open it for people and in doing so tell them as well. I went out to tell her how awesome she is and her response was: “Well, I had a good example.” She meant you, Mom. And I’m afraid that I didn’t follow your example (though of course I made sure she didn’t miss anyone inside by re-telling a lot of them). I just couldn’t. I could barely get my food down. But I did stick it out with Grace (a person, not the trait) until 10pm just to make sure we got the stragglers. And I was certainly glad of the company while driving home.
While at Chipotle I decided to step over to Color Me Mine. I hadn’t been there since I brought you Canes for lunch at work so long ago. I said hi to the two working there and we talked and joked about you and the funny things you said or did (all in love of course). I’m going to miss walking in there like I’m a part of the place because you worked there. And  I’ll miss walking in to ask for your credit card to get lunch or something. And I’ll miss walking with you to Panda Express because you only have a little while for your lunch break and you love me enough to go to a place that serves the kind of food I love even though you hated it.
I know this letter is kind of long. But yesterday was certainly eventful. That’s why I missed you the most I think. Because I always knew before that whether you were stuck on a chair being an invalid or your usual active self, you were that stability that I could count on to give me what I needed, whether that was money, a word of encouragement, or just a hug.
I love and miss you, Mom!

Your daughter,
Hannah