Yesterday, as I sat at my designated spot on the couch (the left side, right against the table with all my stuff on it) my husband looked over at me (from his designated space at his home office at a desk filled with his stuff) and said, “Your Mom called”.

One simple sentence.  Three words.  And I crumpled into a million tiny pieces.

I felt my face begin to change.  My neutral “look up when someone speaks to me” face became something I had no control over.  It morphed from wonder to disbelief to how? to NO to anger to sadness to grief all in a single moment.  All the love I had ever felt for my mother returned to my bruised heart.  All the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years of time we had spent together came flooding back.  All the good mornings and good nights.  All the meals shared.  All the many laughs and all the tears.  It may sound like a soap opera, but it was my life and I loved it.  I loved it.  I loved it so much that I fear the best part of my life is over.  Nothing will ever compare.  True love is like that.  It ruins you for anything less.

My mom is gone now.  I know that.  I know she will never return.  I feel the loss every day.  I feel it deep in my bones, in my gut.  I feel it in my heart.  I feel it in the tiny cells she left behind in me when we shared her body.  I’ve never felt anything stronger.

The moment passed.   My husband looked like he’d seen a ghost (he probably did!).  He apologized and retracted his statement.  My daughter Kat had called, not my mom.

The feelings of an overwhelming love came back.  It lives on in my children, who love me.  Who will always love me.  Who think to call me just to hear my voice.  I wiped the tears away.