They say amputees often talk about this phantom pain; they wake up in the middle of night and feel the urge to scratch a toe that was removed six months ago. That probably seems strange to many people....not to me.
My phantom pain is really more of an ache. When I see a mother shopping with her daughter; when I see them huddled together in a restaurant booth, deep in conversation; when I see a mother reach out and hug her daughter tight, my heart aches. I remember those moments. I long for them.
In my mind's eye, I try to picture what you'd be like today. I think you would have gone natural....or maybe a texturizer. I think you would have retired, bought an SUV (which I'd beg you to trade in for something you could actually drive) and spent your days laughing and shopping with your besties, Aunt Cat and Aunt Lamona. Kind of like "Sex In The City" meets "Girlfriends" with a dash of "Golden Girls."
Maybe that's what all of you are doing up there anyway.
I miss you, but I understand. Even though I have questions that will remain unanswered, I have something better: your legacy. As a wife, mother, professor and even as an oncology patient, you changed lives. You changed my life.
When I speak about the grieving process, I try to explain to people what has become my philosophy on death: God always chooses the right time. On March 17, 1996, I could not see God's timing. Today, I can. Today, I'm grateful.
I love you so much, mommy.....I'll see you afterwhile.
Hope you like the 'fro.