It’s March 1st and my windows are open; It’s probably too early, the breeze is brisk, but I’m bundled up in sweats under a blanket with m 3rd cup of coffee. It’s a good day.
I always find you in Spring, your favorite season, and though it is the season of renewal… it brings melancholy now. Though, I suppose, everything does in some way or another. My quince bush has little pink buds, you’re the person who told me what kind of bush it was, do you remember? I think you do. Somewhere.
Perhaps I’m silly, but I’m hoping for a huge St Patrick’s day snowstorm. March snow reminds me of my childhood on 201 when we’d be stuck in that tiny block house… me, you, Tommy, and Andi. I can’t believe we never killed each other. But, I doubt it will snow.
The kerosene heat in that little house burnt my eyes, but we were never cold. Spaghetti, chili, vegetable soup, a huge bowl of salad, teriyaki chicken, some kind of canned weird Chinese dish that had crunchy little noodles on top, something frozen, bags of Doritos, always too many sweets, and McDonalds twice a week, but we made it okay. We were never hungry. You were probably too lenient, too passive, too much of a friend, but we were so incredibly loved.
Maybe it was a week or two ago, I was talking to Chad and I made the statement that you’d only been gone around a year and a half. He looked at me so funny and when I asked, he gently said, “Honey, this October makes 3 years” and I stopped dead in my tracks. 3 years? It’s been a million years and it’s still October 25, 2017 all at once. I don’t ache like I once did, not daily anyway. The deep, cavernous void in my chest typically feels lighter or doesn’t exist at all. Lately, folks have been coming across pictures of you that are new to me. It’s like seeing your face for the first time, it takes my breath and I cry, but I feel so much joy. Seeing your precious face in those photographs is what I imagine my heart looks like if you could see it figuratively beating outside of my body. I just let out the heaviest, loudest sigh. I sure do miss you, Momma.
But honestly, sometimes most of all, I miss having a home where you are waiting for me on the other side of the front door.