Soon after my mom died and I returned to work, a friend shared with me his own loss of his father. “Wait until the dreams start,” he mentioned to me while we were telling our stories of grief.
The dreams have started.
Last night, she was alive. She was on the phone withe me, coordinating plans to where we would meet up. Then, I was lost in some damn woods on my way down to see her. While I was lost in the woods (days long, navigating with my car), I got a call that she had died again. Then I was assaulted by some nefarious characters. Then I had to go tell everyone how she was dead.
I woke up crying. I’ve been crying on and off all day.
Missing my mom has been a heavy weight that I keep with me at all times. I once heard a comic say that losing your mother is like living in a world without salt. Sure, you know how the dish tastes and you can appreciate what you ordered, but really it all is just not what it could be. That the rest of your life is kind of like that.
Today, I feel the lack of salt.