Gentle Reader, my puppy got into mischief today, and after bathing her outside, I was torn between laughing and being very angry. Laughing because she looked so forlorn, and angry because she had gotten so very dirty. But I was also worried about her, because it’s a bit chilly outside, and the water in the hose was freezing.
Strangely, because of this, I began to miss my mom.
It’s been days coming. It’s approaching the 2 year mark of her death, and on May 4th, I will once again attempt to distance myself from the world and not think about anything. Last year, I did things for me: a facial and a massage. This year, I may do similar. A day at the salon might make it better.
But I missed her because I could hear her voice as I told her the story of Moxie’s mishaps. I could hear her say “Oh, Lord!” in that way only she could. I thought of the advice she’d give me, unnecessary, too-late advice, but advice nonetheless, and I would get annoyed with her that she wasn’t listening to me.
All of that, I miss.
She’s gone and I never get to tell her a story again.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 