My mom died April 4, 2014. She had pancreatic cancer. She was 57 years old. She missed my oldest daughter’s 13th birthday and my baby’s 1st birthday. Every time my girls hit a milestone in their lives, I still have the urge to text or call my mom to share it with her. But I can’t do that. She’ll never watch them grow up. She’ll never see my fiancee and I get married. She’ll never have the mother-son dance with my brother when he gets married. She missed my brother’s graduation from college for his AA degree.
People have said that it gets better. That it gets easier. That it hurts less as the days go by. They’re wrong. No, my mother is not “watching over me” from Heaven. I don’t believe in that. I never have.
I dreamt about her last night. I dream about her once a week or so. Last night I dreamt that she had survived and I had never been told. I was angry. But I was more angry that I woke up and she isn’t here. That’s how my dreams are about her. I dream that she made some miraculous recovery and that everything is okay.
I don’t want to dream anymore.