An odd thing just happened. I was standing at my kitchen sink, cutting vegetables and thinking about high school (yesterday was the birthday of a high school friend, who married this weekend) and suddenly an overpowering urge engulfed me:
I really wanted to call my mother.
The cognitive dissonance of wanting to call somebody who’s gone is probably a normal impulse, but since my mother died, I’ve pretty much closed the lid on wishing I could speak with her. I miss her fiercely, obviously, but I’m a No use crying over spilled milk person–brusque and terribly English when it comes to death!–so it simply hasn’t occurred to me to pick up the phone, scroll through my contacts and stare at the Mama entry longingly.
Rather than make me sad, it was a nice little reminder that I haven’t completely gotten over my mother’s death and that she’s still here with me, ready to make her presence known while I’m chopping tomatoes and thinking of times gone by.