But we weren’t like that. We rarely shopped together, neither of us were really into it. We didn’t meet for lunch at little coffee shops, though she made all of us lunch thousands of times at home. No, we weren’t the stereotypical mother/daughter. Plus she lived in Alabama. I lived in Michigan. Each visit I made was a big deal, a family reunion. Something she’d plan for weeks.
The hellos were wonderful, full of anticipation of time spent on the lake or around the table, all of us together. The goodbyes were heart wrenching, never knowing how long until the next reunion.
I want to go to lunch with my mom. Just a casual lunch, nothing special. I want to talk about her ducks and my dog. Her garden and mine.
Sometimes at night I look at the sky, stare at the stars and ask her to please come home. Please. But I know she is home now, and there aren’t any flights that leave there.
I’m here and she’s there.
Someday I’ll have lunch with my mom. It probably won’t be a casual meal because it will be a pretty special reunion. An event. For now I guess I’ll go make a sandwich and talk to her in my head. About her ducks and my dog. What’s in her garden today, and the tomatoes in mine.
You know – just casual stuff.