My mother loved when I would publish new blog entries. It was her chance to be a little closer to her son who didn’t visit or call nearly enough. We used to argue about it actually, how long it’d been since I’d last called. I always insisted it’d only been a few days but those few days were always actually a week or two—sometimes longer. It’s incredible how fast time moved in between calls and visits. There was always something I’d let get in the way. The last time I saw my mother was at dinner the night before she passed—at the last minute my boss had switched a shift with me and I was able to join her that Thursday night.

We went to the store shortly after I had gotten to her house that night. My niece was with us, and she saw the mechanical horse outside of the store and wanted to ride it—my mother had her quarters ready, this was something they did every time she went to the store. I remember we went through the aisles, stopping to get eggs, half & half, ham steak and beer for my father. My mother was making quiche for dinner—we had forgotten one of the most important ingredients that night but we improvised.

Things are different now. It isn’t my mom’s house anymore, now it’s dad’s house.

I know she knew I loved her, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I told her or the last time I hugged her. I mostly try not to think about it. It’s so easy to go about life like normal and forget that any of this ever even happened. It isn’t healthy but it’s the best I can do when the two people I’ve loved the most in life just aren’t here. Levi will return soon, but my mom is gone forever.

Levi and I were talking about getting married this fall. Really married, not a domestic partnership.

My mom won’t be there.

The holidays are coming up. The first one in years that the entire family is supposed to be together.

My mom won’t be there.

My mom is in a cemetery that I haven’t yet visited. It feels like it’s only been a few days but it’s actually been a week or two—no…definitely longer.