It’s Passover. It’s been three months since I last saw you Mom.
There are days when I say, “Alright already, enough of this Ma, I want to see your face, I want to hear your voice, I want to feel your love”. I still can’t conceive that I never will again.
And so it’s time to clean the mud off of the heels I wore the day I bade you goodbye. I kept that mud on those heels because somehow it kept me closer to a time when I still had you.
You are so far away from me now, you are eons away. Time takes on a different texture now, it is heavier than before.
My heart is a trunk full of gratitude for all that I have, and for all that you gave me. I go on, I move on in life, I know what to do because you taught me so well, but I miss you.
It’s Passover and as I make the Matzoh balls for the soup, I hear you telling me that I make the best soup, that there is nothing like my soup.
We sit down for the Seder, it is a fine Seder, we sing, we laugh, we tell the story and have our four cups of wine. But you’re not sitting next to me Mom, and I miss you.