Dear Momma

Tonight I miss you.  I miss you often, of course, and at certain times I miss you more than others, but tonight I am desperate for you.  

I wish that I could pick up the phone and just talk, cry, hear your voice soothing me, get your advice and encouragement, your love.  You've been gone for 20 years now, and I need you more than ever.

I don't know what I'm doing, momma.  You've done all of this before so tell me what to do now... You were gone before I ever knew I'd need you for this.  I don't know how to stop, back up, start over - I don't know how to go forward, to step out and believe that it will all be ok in the end.  I don't know how to go on... 

I imagine us sitting together, cups of creamy steamy coffee in front of us, you with a cigarette dangling from your fingers and a circle of smoke floating above you.  I see us at my kitchen table and the sun coming in thru the French doors and warming us.  (But, really, would you smoke in my house?) The dog will be in your lap, the baby will be in mine, and I will cry into his wispy hair.  You will stub out your cigarette and blow smoke off to the side (mom! Are you smoking near my baby?) as you reach out to grab my hand and hold it. I feel your dry skin, your firm grip, and I draw strength from you.  Maybe if I imagine it enough, I can pull some measure of strength from my imagination into this mess I so badly need you here for.

Be with me, but more than that, be with my son.  Whisper into your grandsons heart, be the voice in his head  that I can't be, be the lifeline he needs in my place - he won't listen to me, he won't hear me, and I'm so afraid of losing him.  Help him, momma, please... He won't let me.  I don't know how to be his momma, but you did it for two boys so surely you have the insight I need. 

I love you momma... I miss you...