Visits

A few days ago I had a doctor's appointment in Twinsburg (everything is okay, and that's not the point of this entry).

After my appointment was over, I decided to go visit Mom. The place she's buried is literally right across the street from the Twinsburg Cleveland Clinic office. It had been a while since I'd visited, so I figured I should be a good daughter and do just that.

As I entered the mausoleum I was struck, as I always am, by how quiet and still the place is. It's an odd and lonely feeling. I'm always surprised that every time I've been I'm always the only person there. I always get my own personal time to visit Mom and talk to her.

Mom's spot is just above my height. I can reach up and touch it, but I'm not looking directly at it. But as I stare up at her picture on the wall in front of me, I find that I have nothing to say. Everything I could ever want to say I write in a journal every night, as I have done almost every night since the day she died. My letters to her have left very little to actually talk about now that I'm there.

But in that moment I wanted nothing more than her to be there next to me giving me advice on what to do. I wanted reassurance that I'm doing the right thing. That everything is going to be okay. Words she always used to tell me as a little girl who knew nothing of the real world...and comfort to that girl who was thrust into the real world at the young age of 13 when everything changed forever.

I sat there for a few moments, tears gathering as they always do. Finally I felt that it was time to go. With a quiet "goodbye, Mommy. I love you." I left to go back to my car and drive home.

Not a day goes by where I don't think of her or miss her. But writing every night helps me. I know she's always there watching over me.

And sometimes that's enough.