As I gather up my things for my trip to Illinois this weekend the reason is all to real. Every time I have made this journey this spring I’ve felt a sense of unease, dread almost, the night before leaving. Every trip carried with it the potential of being the last one where I’d see Mom alive. Tonight is no different; I feel a sense of unease that won’t go away.
My Mom is dead and I won’t see her this weekend. For the first time ever in my life I will go home and she won’t be there to greet me. And then on Saturday I’ll attend her memorial, hear words spoken by others, and speak some words myself, to say goodbye publicly.
My eyes are filling with the first real tears I’ve cried this week. The realization of what has happened and what is about to happen is really sinking in for the first time. I’ll never again be able to call her on the phone. She’ll never again recommend a new author or book to me. I’ll miss the times I was annoyed with her or upset by the difference we shared.
There are many events in a life that help you to grow. Some are easier to accept than others. I don’t know how I’ll ever accept that my mother is dead and I can never see her again.