missing my mom

It's been a year since my mom died. It's so surreal how life just goes on. Her presence is fading, yet I still half-expect her to reappear at any minute. The heart never gives up.

My mom loved my blog. I never really knew how much until, during the marathon of sorting out her closets and drawers, I discovered printouts of nearly every post. Some were printed multiple times. She had done a lot of cleaning out over the four years of her terminal diagnosis, but she held onto my writing. I miss having someone in this world who was so unconditionally proud of me. Here are some of the other things I miss so much.

:: Her everyday phone calls. Usually she called me for no specific reasons other than just to say hi. Some days I found the interruption inconvenient and we only talked for a minute or I never called her back; other days we talked for an hour. I saved some of her voice mail messages on my phone and only recently have ventured to listen to them again. "Hi, Aim," her slightly melancholy voice sings. "Just calling to say hi. Give me a call back." How much I wish I could.

:: Her unsolicited advice. Although she'd laugh and adamantly deny it, my mom was queen of daytime talk shows and latched right onto whatever conspiracy they proffered. She advised me to sleep with my wallet under my pillow when staying in a hotel and to double check the garage to be sure no paint-soaked rags were hiding in paper bags or cardboard boxes, as they would surely spontaneously combust on a hot summer day. My favorite was a text I received from her one morning on the Metra. It read, "News reports of men taking photos of women's bosoms and buttocks on trains and posting on social media. Cover up!" My commute isn't the same without her.

:: Her love of flowers. My mom always had something blooming in her house. Her ability to coax life out of an indoor flowering plant was unparalleled. Her orchids were especially stunning. For a brief stint in her ongoing quest to find the ideal vocation to add to a real estate license, she ran a florist shop. When she discovered it was going to cost her money rather than make her any, she quit it and resorted to frequenting other florists just to get her heady whiffs of rose and hyacinth.

:: Her impromptu gifts. Shopping was one of my mom's greatest pleasures. Somehow I did not get that gene, but I sure benefited from her vice. In stores, online, through the Home Shopping Network, she spent everything she earned buying the latest gimmicks and fun presents for people. As a kid, she'd be covert about the gifts, telling me not to tell my stepdad she bought the boots/necklace/basketball she was sneaking me in a grocery store bag. She loved working so she had her own money to spend and didn't like anyone knowing how she spent it. She bought me my first nice suit, many pairs of expensive shoes, pearls, a beautiful tiffany pub lamp, endless bouquets of flowers, placemats for every occasion, a self-wringing mop, and a leopard-print massage pillow that I quickly donated and now wish I had kept.

:: Her laugh and insatiable desire for fun. My mom liked to be with people who entertained her. She was the ultimate extrovert and incredibly blunt. She had a contagious laugh and was known to "pee a little bit" when things got too crazy.

:: Her hugs. Big, soft and fragrant. The absence of that regular inhale of hairspray and Dior J'Adore mixed with Juicy Fruit gum still leaves an ache.

:: Her unflagging support. My mom was my biggest fan. She may have wished she could change my hairstyle or put more makeup on my face, but her belief in me, my abilities and my choices never wavered.

Maybe it's still hard to comprehend that she's gone because I'm carrying so much of her around in my heart. I hope I always will.