Yesterday was Haitian Mother’s Day.
June 2nd is my Mom’s birthday.
She would have been 74. Maybe now I would have begun to worry about her no longer being with me in the coming years.
I am squarely in my feelings. So much so I asked my aide for a hug as I balled yesterday morning nearly uncontrollably.
Sometimes I miss her so much. I miss who I would have grown up to know her as. I miss who she could have been as her whole adult and flawed self.
There is a part of me this year that is inconsolable. It’s the first time since I was twelve that I am not in our family home. I won’t be again because it had to be sold. There is a different kind of sadness, a finality.
I don’t want to hear that she is proud of me where she is. I don’t want to hear that she is always with me because in these moments, I just want her warm hug, a plate of her food and to see her.
I just want my Momma.