It crept up out of nowhere. I had a wonderful visit with my Father while he was in town for business. And this morning he left and I came and sat down at my desk and put on music to crank out some of the piles of work this week holds. I needed something softer than my usual playlists so I put Enya on. I haven't listened to Enya in years.
And there it was. Tapes from my mother's car. Her album "Watercolor" playing while my parents entertained. And then George Winston. When George Winston's Summer or Winter albums were on my parents would be sitting at the dining table with friends, candles lit and glasses clinking. That was my cue to stay hidden in my room.
And it became too much to bear and I began to sob.
It's not the same. Even with her Alzheimer's she would still be my Mom. She would be here. And she isn't here. She is there. In that home.
She would have brought some odd tchotchke for the kids that was probably inappropriate. And she would have insisted my Dad stopped for flowers before arriving. And she would have picked the dead leaves off the plants. And she probably would have spilled something and slightly frustrated us but she would have been here.
And then I get sadder and imagine her healthy. Would she be that lone honest voice and tell me its time to use wrinkle cream? That I look tired and a little heavy? Would she help me organize Amelie's clothes and switch my closets from Summer to Fall? Go for a walk with me? Give me advice about the rooms in my house that are still in progress? I know she would insist on Mums and Pumpkins in the coming months. She made seasons magical.
I miss having a Mom.
I miss it so so much.