my mama

No one is promised tomorrow.

I’m gonna love you, I wont take you for granted. We’ll never know when we run out of time. In a blink of an eye. In a whisper of smoke. No one is promised tomorrow. I’m gonna love you, like I’m gonna loose you. Like I’m saying goodbye. 
Meghan Trainor sings that with John Legend.
my mama
my mama
Today was my mama’s birthday. I think of her often lately. I want my mama back. I want to call her often. I want to hold her hand. The softest hand ever. I am certain of this fact. No fact check necessary. I want to tell her my life happenings. No one ever listened as long and patient as she did. Lunch with her family was one of her favorite. She would always be there first, waiting with a smile, making what ever space we were at all about us. She was all about holding that space for us. 
I want a day with my mama. I want my life on earth to be shared with her physical body. Not just the feeling of her being there. I want her voice in my ear, her fingers wrapped in mine. I did not realize that the world would not feel the same without her. I thought I was ready to let her go. I thought I was adult enough to carry on the mothering matriarch role in her place. 
I got this…I thought. 
I was a world away from having this. Nothing is the same. The world is not the same. 
Death is real. My death is real. I am so very aware of this now. 
I will die and there will no longer be life. No waiting in heaven for others to come. No reunions of those that have passed. They are molecular structures in other things now. There is no holding place for the zillions of people that have left us. I know the story is there to comfort us. But it doesn’t bring comfort. I have never been more certain that there is no one waiting around to say “I’ve been waiting for you.” 
I am an intelligent person that wishes life could be that simple. That a book would tell a story and I would just blindly believe it. But it is not that simple. 
I was cursed and blessed to be born from the womb of my mother. Maybe nothingness is better than knowingness. 
Thank you mama and at the same time, “what the hell!” 
I want to to be proved so very wrong. Let me walk with the ghost of my mother. I am not scared so bring it on. 
I want to be a ghost that can walk with my children. That will wash my sorrow down my throat like the strong dose of medicine I so badly need. 

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