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Dec. 6th, 2012 10:44 pmIt's been four years today.
What's four years? The length of my college career, the length of a presidential term, the amount of time my mother has been dead.
This time four years ago, I was broken. It had been scant hours since she took her last breath as I slept at her bedside. This time, I slept in my bed in my house when 3:07am on December 6th steamrolled by. This time then I was alternating between numb and wracked with pain. This time I went to work, smiled with my friends, and talked about how I despise customers like it was any other day. I spoke to my grandma on the phone and said nothing of the day. I didn't want to upset her.
I am a consummate actress.
No one is really able to understand how much I miss her. We had so much fun together over the years. We had adventures, even if they were no more exotic than driving aimlessly down a road in New Hampshire to see where it took us. I miss the freedom we had, driving to a different state on a whim, moving on when we tired of where we were. We grew up as gypsies together.
Four years ago, if the devil himself would have told me I could have her back but the world would burn, my only question would have been "Where do I sign?" Four years later, I still would.
I look at the life I've built now, the home I've create that houses the love of my life and the pets I adore. I look at the existence I've carved out of this land. The friends that I found when I drove my little blue car into a place I've never set foot before. I look at all of this, and more than anything I wish I could show it to her. I wish she could see what she helped build when she built me.
And I wonder. It's impossible not to wonder what my life would be if cancer had never ripped into our lives. I think about that girl sometimes, who she would have been and what she would be doing now. I like to think that she's out there somewhere, on some other plane of existence. She's living in North Carolina, running a bakery with her mother at her side. Her hair is still golden, and there's an innocence in her that comes from never having had your world ripped apart.
I'm 30 years old. Four years ago, I was a motherless child lost in the woods. Four years ago snow was falling outside and I was sitting in my room wondering what I was going to do alone in the years stretching out in front of me. I'm older now, in more ways than just the passing of days.
I ran away to Texas, and I found a life here. That doesn't stop me from missing the old one though. I miss watching movies together while the storms blew outside, the snow swirling outside the window making it feel like we lived inside a snowglobe. I miss oatmeal cookies and turkeys roasting in the middle of summer. I miss road trips and adventures. I miss my best friend.
I miss my Mom.
What's four years? The length of my college career, the length of a presidential term, the amount of time my mother has been dead.
This time four years ago, I was broken. It had been scant hours since she took her last breath as I slept at her bedside. This time, I slept in my bed in my house when 3:07am on December 6th steamrolled by. This time then I was alternating between numb and wracked with pain. This time I went to work, smiled with my friends, and talked about how I despise customers like it was any other day. I spoke to my grandma on the phone and said nothing of the day. I didn't want to upset her.
I am a consummate actress.
No one is really able to understand how much I miss her. We had so much fun together over the years. We had adventures, even if they were no more exotic than driving aimlessly down a road in New Hampshire to see where it took us. I miss the freedom we had, driving to a different state on a whim, moving on when we tired of where we were. We grew up as gypsies together.
Four years ago, if the devil himself would have told me I could have her back but the world would burn, my only question would have been "Where do I sign?" Four years later, I still would.
I look at the life I've built now, the home I've create that houses the love of my life and the pets I adore. I look at the existence I've carved out of this land. The friends that I found when I drove my little blue car into a place I've never set foot before. I look at all of this, and more than anything I wish I could show it to her. I wish she could see what she helped build when she built me.
And I wonder. It's impossible not to wonder what my life would be if cancer had never ripped into our lives. I think about that girl sometimes, who she would have been and what she would be doing now. I like to think that she's out there somewhere, on some other plane of existence. She's living in North Carolina, running a bakery with her mother at her side. Her hair is still golden, and there's an innocence in her that comes from never having had your world ripped apart.
I'm 30 years old. Four years ago, I was a motherless child lost in the woods. Four years ago snow was falling outside and I was sitting in my room wondering what I was going to do alone in the years stretching out in front of me. I'm older now, in more ways than just the passing of days.
I ran away to Texas, and I found a life here. That doesn't stop me from missing the old one though. I miss watching movies together while the storms blew outside, the snow swirling outside the window making it feel like we lived inside a snowglobe. I miss oatmeal cookies and turkeys roasting in the middle of summer. I miss road trips and adventures. I miss my best friend.
I miss my Mom.
