Three years.

She's here. 

I am carrying one of her purses right now. When someone compliments it I smile and say "Thanks! It was my Mom's!" It still has one of her 'business cards' in it. She had them printed when she retired. It's more of a calling card. In bright yellow on a green background there is a speech bubble that reads "Hi There!". And on the back, next to her number (the same one that's still in my phone as "Mom" and shows up on my favorites in my car) it says "Living like someone left the gate open".  She's here. I wear one of her wedding rings every day. Her white chunky sweater with the hole in the side hangs in my closet. She's with me every time I put on a bright color. She's here when my teenager is angsty gently reminding me I was there once and I came out ok (Actually she would say I came out better than ok. She would say marvelous or stellar or stupendous with lots of exclamation points.). She makes her presence known in cotton candy sunrises through the woods in the backyard and when the wind blows just right with fresh, warm spring air. I still feel that whole body warmth when I talk to her. I hope that never goes away. Sometimes when the door to the garage blows open a little bit we joke and say "Mom's here!". 

She's here but, it's not the same. Today it hurts. Three years ago today was the last time she was with us, the last time we were together as a family, the original four. She took her last breath early on March first with just my Dad by her side. As she wanted it. I know today feels harder than tomorrow will. It feels heavy, like an actual weight on my chest and there is this pressure that runs up the back of my throat that won't go away. Today I will sob. I'll sob while I write this. I'll ugly cry in the shower. I may sob to any poor soul who decides to say hello today. Grief is neat like that. You are never quite sure what will bring it on, what day it will hurt the most or how it will manifest itself. 

She told me she hated to leave because she didn't want to miss it all. She hated to leave a party early. Leaving us early was never the plan. The thing is, I don't actually think she's missed any of it. I think she has been here for all of it. We are the ones doing the missing. What we are missing is her reaction to it. We miss her over the top celebration of the joys and the excitements. We miss her comforting words and peaceful demeanor through the tough stuff. I'd give anything to be inundated with articles and research on any topic she wasn't familiar with to help guide us through making decisions. I'd love a new voicemail asking what the "Busy Bests" are up to. Or even a lecture about how I need to slow down and how when I "burn the candle at both ends" it doesn't end well. We are the ones doing the missing. 

When you lose your lifelong cheerleader you just aren't quite ever the same. She told me that and she was right. Our lives are packed full of happy moments, exciting new adventures and even some regular, mundane stuff. It would all be a little bit better, a little more joyful, a little bit easier if she was physically still here.