I miss you all the time, every day, but somehow Sunday evenings are the hardest for me. Sunday was our time, when we would talk for hours, sometimes about politics, sometimes about ideas – books, meals, Maya, family memories. All of it.
I feel like the late teen years, I was so busy figuring out who I was, busy with work and school and friends, and I took you for granted. But still, we lived in the same house and I saw you every day, even if it was just passing in the hall on our way out the door in the morning. Then I moved out, went to San Francisco to college, and we didn’t talk very often. You always said how much you hated talking on the phone, and I was so busy with work and school and friends and falling in love with Ted. We talked, but it never seemed to happen as often as either of us wanted or needed.
Eventually we both realized that we missed each other, and we set up a schedule where we would talk every other Sunday evening. Sometimes I wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation, considered skipping our call, but didn’t want to dissapoint you. And I’m glad, because I always loved our talks. It felt like we were able to reconnect, even though I sometimes got tired of hearing about the Hooligans or The Big Bang Theory, and you got bored of hearing about Genevieve or whatever. That’s part of it. Talking and listening even if you’re somewhat bored by the conversation. These connections are so important, and I’m so thankful that we had them.
Then, of course, we had Maya, and there’s something about being a mom that helps you to understand your own mom in a whole new way, no matter how close you were before. You start to understand motivations and decisions, and to have a lot more understanding of decisions made in the shadow of exhaustion. I know I did.
And then there was the blog. I felt like I found my own voice through blogging, and I really loved it. And I loved that you read my blog, commented, kept in touch with my daily life that way. Then you started your own blog, and I got a glimpse into your inner world, and it opened a new world of understanding for me. Verbal conversations are such a back & forth, and carry on a life of their own. A blog is a chance to flesh out thoughts, to fully express yourself, but it opinion or memory or whatever. So this glimpse gave me so much that our conversations didn’t – just like the conversations gave us a lot that was beyond our blogs.
All of this is a rambling letter to my dead mom, whom I miss desperately, especially on Sunday evenings.