Things I Wanted To Tell Mom, Chapter 1

I just spent an inordinate amount of time on AT&T's website trying to figure out how many times I talk to Mom in a month. Also attempted to count text messages. Here's what I know, we spoke on the phone almost every day. We exchanged several dozen text messages a day. And now she's gone. Just like that. Gone.

Mom is who I share the mundane with. She's the one I text when Costco has some sort of new magical weeknight dinner solution (hello street tacos and pork medallions). She's literally the only person who cares when I find a pair of Vineyard Vines shorts for Cannon at Marshall's. She's also the very first person I ever want to call when something exciting happens. She's the first person I tell when the kids get straight A's or when we get a note from a teacher telling us what a great human we're raising. And now she's gone. 

And I need an outlet. My Dad is a great listener, advice giver, encourager but not so much on the talking about nothing. 

So here it goes: Things I Wanted to Tell Mom, Chapter 1. 

I wanted to tell Mom that the kids closet reorganization and designs are done and they look great. I wanted to text her pictures of the final product. Because she cares about the mundane and she would tell me how great they look and what a difference the shelves will make for them. Not being able to text her about this literally brought me to my knees. So much so that I texted another Mom we grew up with because I needed to tell someone. It was a close as I could get to her. 

I wanted to tell her that the last week of my life has been the hardest. That I haven't even begun to process everything that has happened. That I don't even know where to begin. And I wanted to hear her tell me where she thinks I should start. 

I wanted to tell her Cannon got into the private school he loves. And thank her. Because her insistence is the only reason I even visited that school. I wanted to tell her she was right. As usual. 

I wanted to tell her I sent her flowers on my birthday like I always have and that there were tulips in the arrangement. Her favorite. 

I wanted to tell her I bought a new pair of red shoes with bows the day before she died. And that they're Rothy's and they're sensible and sustainable.

I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was laying in her bed in hospice. I wanted her to know everyone kept telling us how beautiful she was. And that her hair never got greasy.  She was worried.

I want to talk to her about how I am feeling right now. I want to tell her how messy grief is and how I feel like I'm floating outside of my physical self most of the time, unable to believe this is real life. 

I want her to know my kids hearts are broken. That Emerson is sleeping with one of her scarves and that Cannon grabs my hand whenever I walk by him. And I wanted to tell her that when I explained what happened to her to Finley (who is 4) her response was "So she's watching over us like Santa and a lot of dogs?". She would have loved that level of 4 year old understanding. 

I wanted to tell her I cleaned Emerson's glasses this morning. Right after Emer told me that was one of her favorite things about Bubbles. 

I want to tell her that I don't want to smile at strangers or talk to anyone. I want to ask her why the rest of the world is still spinning and people are going about their lives? How can they do that when everything is sad and broken? I want to tell her I know it won't always be this way but that for now I'm settling into messy and ugly and embracing my grief stricken eyes and soul. 

I wanted to thank her for the letter she wrote me. I am so honored to wear the crown now and I hope I can wear it half as well as she did. 

I want to tell her how much her life and her journey have touched people. And every time someone new shares a story about her impact on them I am brought to tears with pride. 

I want to tell her how grateful I am that we had the opportunity to say all the things before she was gone. But also tell her that it turns out it doesn't matter how well prepared you are to lose your Mom, you're never actually ready. 

And I want to ask her where my big girl pants are.