*This is a repost from last year.
When someone close to you dies you get used to it. It never stops hurting, but you get used to it. For a long time after my mother died I still picked up the phone to call her, but now, heck it's been nine years. I don't forget she's gone. But I still miss her.
Nine years is a long time. I was pregnant with my children nine years ago. They've done a lot of growing since, growing I was unable to share with her.
I miss her when Daughter does something oh so like Mom. I miss not being able to tell her said daughter has Mom's hideously gaudy taste in jewelry, shoes, and sometimes clothes. I miss her when I want to remember a funny story that has faded into my storage files. I miss her most, though, when my kids ask why Grammy Sherry died before they could meet her.
I miss her when Son gets her snarky attitude. No, I swear, he got it from her - I'm never snarky. Nevah. (Oh hush, I heard that!)
But, I am used to it.
Happy birthday Mom. Thanks for passing on to me that undying passion for all things written and your taste in music (and the rock stars that make the music). I hope you've met Jim Morrison and he's as dreamy as you always imagined.