I miss saying, "Hi, Mom".

They say it takes time. I'd like to know how long.

I miss saying, “Hi, Mom”.

I miss being her daughter.

I miss her randomly showing up with pots of soup and homemade pies because food was her love language.

I miss her reminding me to take my vitamins and hearing me randomly cough and immediately lecturing me on taking care of myself.

I miss going home and the way the light came in the windows and the way she loved Waylon Jennings.

I miss knowing that no matter what I did or said, she’d never, ever hold it against me.

I miss her blasting church music in her car.

I miss knowing, without a doubt, that she would answer if I called, she was praying for me every night, and that every decision she made was done firstly with love for me in mind.

I miss the way she rolled her eyes. It makes me laugh when I remember it.

I miss how she’d start her holiday menus three months early.

I miss hearing her call me by my full name when she was frustrated or exasperated with me.

I miss her calling me because she was mad at Kathy, even though we both knew she’d be on that golf cart by dark.

I miss having someone that shared every memory of my life and treasured them all.

I miss her smile and her humor and the random People magazines she’d leave on my car because somehow she got a subscription to them but didn’t remember signing up.

I miss her asking me what team she was supposed to root for during football season and calling me with gossip about people I didn’t even know.

I miss her patting my hand when she was nervous and how it would drive me crazy.

I miss her excitement over my books and how she’d give bookmarks and paperbacks to every person she’d meet.

I miss sharing the boys with her.

I miss her telling me to get out of the bath when it was storming.

I miss calling her when I have good news to share or a funny story to tell, knowing she’d be more excited than I was or would laugh harder than me.

I miss being able to rant about things that made me mad and have her get mad too just because (and then try to talk sense to me once I calmed down).

I miss being able to call her and not feel rushed - even if I didn’t have anything to say. She was just happy to listen to me breathe.

I miss knowing I could walk through her door any day, at any time, and not only be welcome but be wanted there.

I miss knowing that no matter what, there was a woman sitting in a house in a small town in Indiana that loved me first and most and without any conditions or expectations and she made sure I always knew it.

I miss having a whole heart.

I really, really, really miss my mommy.

It’s been three years today.