Incomplete

I am on a train to New Jersey to visit friends. While I’ve done this at least twice a year for years, this time feels different. The last time, like every time before, I would call my Mom and talk to her. When I was seated in my friends’ car, I would call her to tell her that I made it. This time, none of that will happen.

It is small little things that still creep up on me five months after Mom’s death. So many little rituals that we had that defined my daily life and now it is all gone. I always thought that my father’s death would hit me harder but I can no longer feel the hole he left but I feel that my heart will never be complete again now that Mom is gone.

A few days ago, I thought about never seeing her or talking to her again and I had a panic attack. Over and over again, I remember that moment she stopped breathing and the pain that stabbed into my heart and stayed there. The cliché is that it gets better with time, and while I know it’s only been five months, it seems to be getting worse and not better.

I find myself thinking of deals I can make with the universe for one more minute with her and knowing that my wishing it won’t make it so. No matter what I wish or offer to give up, she is gone and will not be returning.

I lost a piece of myself and I don’t think I’ll ever feel whole again.