I miss my Mom

Every morning since my son has been in summer camp, I drop him off, come back to her house and take a long walk down the road. She is buried at the end of the road, or some of her ashes are anyway. I turn my mind down, feel the sun, sweat and tears on my skin, and hoof it. My mom also loved rocks, so I pick one from my collection and carry it with me, picking Queen Anne’s lace and other wildflowers from the side of the road on the way. When I get to her, I feel quiet. I tidy up her grave, place the rock and flowers and then I cry. It hurts so bad I feel my chest opening. I just let it out. Pure pain. No where else for it to go except crying to my dead mommy. Crying to the earth. Crying out because I know she’s all around but I still miss her hugs. Her safe heart.
Her beautiful spirit 🖤


Her grave is simple. I keep all her favorites there. A year or so ago my family came to me and said her tombstone wasn’t big enough. That what I had done was tacky and didn’t belong in a graveyard. I told them to kiss my ass, because my mom would of loved it.

I think I’m starting to understand how I will always miss her. Being in her house, my childhood home is not easy on my heart, but perhaps I needed this extra time to heal. I’m patiently waiting for the day I feel loved like family again 🖤