…and on Mother’s Day, the ache is more profound.
Most of the time, I think of her with a smile on my face and love in my heart; but on Mother’s Day, I really miss her.
I miss being able to tell her the little things that meant so much to her:
“There’s a wren making a nest in the same spot in the garage again this spring.”
“I saw a mama rabbit and her baby in the backyard.”
“These are from the plantings of daisies you gave me years ago.”
I wish she could see my children so grown and happy. She would be so proud of Charlie all dignified and lawyer-fied. How she would love seeing Sage so content with her new husband Alex, who provides for her so well. How she would smile, smile, smile at seeing her granddaughter’s baby bump. She would absolutely be ecstatic at the thought of having a great-grand-baby girl.
I revel in the love for and from my children. I consider myself one of the luckiest mothers I know, and I cannot wait to hold my first grandchild.
On Mother’s Day, however, there’s a big ol’ lump in my throat and I must let the tears flow.
On Mother’s Day, I simply miss my Mama.