A year without my mother’s love.

There was no incessant morning nagging. No repetitive beckoning to come downstairs, to eat breakfast, to do something productive with my day. There was no listing and detailed explanation of my upcoming day’s activities. The “5 W’s and an H” became strangers to me. No longer did I feel myself struggling for a refreshingly appropriate response to the statement, “I love you more.” I never had to remake my coffee due to an over-pouring of cream. The unexpected and unplanned touches on my neck and arms became only phantom. There were no more hand and nail inspections. Now, no one would tell me what I very well knew about my nail-biting habit. No one would ask “why” in response to my every action. Those slightly confusing and multi-layered films became quieter; no longer did I talk throughout, answering questions no one had the answers to. No longer did I relay and interpret sad song lyrics. My statements of narcissism and judgment left my mouth without an apology following immediately after. I didn’t worry about meeting up for last-minute, rushed lunches. I came and I went, I’d be home for dinner or I wouldn’t. I’d drop something, not having to justify the booms and crashes. I’d stub my toe, exclaiming obscenities, but not hearing shrieks of worry and concern from upstairs. I never needed anything from the store, and when I did, I went and got it. No eyes widened at sheer blouses and short skirts. No one told me to call my grandmother on her birthday. I was never missing anyone, and when I was, I didn’t have to justify it. No more hair-stroking in passing. No cheers-ing to the two of us. I only had my own bed to sleep in. I washed my own sheets. I sprawled out on my bed, struggling alone to tuck the corners of the fitted sheet under the mattress. The house remained at my desired and preferred temperature, never too hot and never too cold. I took trips alone, seeing only what I wanted to see. Bags of new clothes and shoes hung and fit on my body, with only my mirror and eyes to examine them. Receipts were my business only. No surprise gifts or pints of ice cream welcomed me home from long days of work. New love went undiscussed, so I just played first dates over and over in my mind. I have grown a little, and only I notice. I only ask myself if I’ve gained just a bit of weight. If I wanted pictures taken, I’d better take the time. Borrowing an occasional twenty dollars became much more complicated. I always sat at a table meant for two, with one chair usually being stolen and given to someone who needed it - someone less alone than me. My eyebrows looked just fine, but how could I possibly be so sure? I went to the theatre in the late morning, never buying popcorn. I used to sit in front, now I can be found in the back. No one met me wherever, anymore. Shirts went stained, and pleats imperfect. I’m too tired and short on time, but this will have to go un-ironed. That painting has been crooked for months, but I’d never notice. I’d finally purchase mustard yellow things. Puppies aren’t a good idea for me right now, which I learned the hard way. I can’t afford that, not this month. That became my mantra to myself. I am okay, and everything will be okay. That became my mantra to my mother, wherever her love was.

28
May

1

#mother

#mom

#love

#everything is okay

#creative nonfiction