I can call but she will never pick up.
I’ll have a moment in my day where motherhood seems so overwhelming and I think I’m failing at everything.
That I am not doing everything right or doing the best I can as a Mom and I’ll want to call her and just cry into the phone. I won’t have to say anything because she’s the only one who can understand my tears without the words. She’ll know all the right things to say. She will know to tell me that motherhood is messy, that none of us are perfect and that is the beauty of being a Mom that there is no perfect way to do it.
She will tell me I am great Mom and she knows this because she knows my heart because I’m part of her.
I can call but she will never call back.
I’ll have a day where I just want to pick up the phone and call my Mom and talk for hours and hours about things that matter and things that don’t. Where I want to talk about everything and nothing and somehow get off the phone feeling like all the world’s problems were solved, at least mine anyways.
I can talk to her about all these things but she can’t answer back.
I’ll have a moment in time where I am thirty-two years old and still have questions that I want to ask my Mom and I will never be able to get her answers because I was robbed of that time, robbed of the answers to those questions.
As a Motherless Daughter, my day looks a lot different from yours if you are able to pick up the phone and call your Mom.
My day starts and ends differently every single day and always will.
