Bittersweet “Me” Time

I sit at my kitchen table. In front of me is my laptop and my cup of coffee which is slowly growing cold. I’m just staring, thinking, listening to cats meow and the washing machine gently whirring.

Today is one of those days. The kind that is bittersweet yet shouldn’t be.

I dropped my nervous son off at school, leaving him in the hands of a new teacher who looks like she should still be in second grade herself.

When I was certain he would be OK, I kissed him and left. Not before volunteering to be head room mother…yet again. To my son it’s important that I’m involved in his school. To me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I walked back to my car, shivering against the cool fall air that is making itself known as it nudges the summer away, leaving in its wake memories of the scent of chlorine and the sound of carefree laughter.

I sit in my car for a second and take a deep breath. I’ve been waiting for a few weeks to have my own routine back. And finally, it’s arrived. But almost too quickly.

My heart skips a beat. I feel like I’m forgetting something. Something important. Something that I always do after I drop my son off at school.

Instinctually, I reach for my phone.

Then my heart sinks and tears well up.

This time, every single day, after I have dropped my son off…

I call my mom. To see how she is. To discuss the difficulties and wonders of my children. To just hear her voice and reassure myself that she is OK.

But she isn’t here anymore.

The reality is startling. It takes me a minute to catch my breath and regroup.

School breaks, for some reason, were always a time when I didn’t talk to or see my mom as much as I did during the school year. So, even though she died in August and my life changed dramatically…it was OK because I was surrounded by my children and my husband. The kept my physically and emotionally busy, leaving me to only think about my mom during lulls in the day.

But now? The void is unmistakeable. It is tremendous and gaping.

I ache for my mom.

I keep thinking that she’ll be back, this is only a vacation. Because she can’t really be gone. Not forever. Not permanently.

She is though. All those millions of phone calls during the day, all the visits to her house…

No longer.

Which leaves me with empty moments, dark holes in my day that were once lovingly filled.

So here I sit. Alone at last. A quiet house. My computer. My coffee. My laundry.

And I’m a lost little girl, alone and scared, at least for the next few hours.

I know, I’ll get used to it. But I’ll never REALLY get used to it.

My “me” time used to include my mom in so many different ways.

Now, my “me” time is just…not the same.

But life continues moving rapidly forward, leaving just memories of what used to be and promises of what’s to come.

I guess I have to shake myself off and move forward with the rest of life.

It’s just so damn hard right now.

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