I’ve been living in a dream-like state since then
Not quite standing, not quite sitting.
Unsure of my likes,
Unsure of my dislikes,
Unsure if I’m too much,
Or not enough.
Just existing,
Not even dreaming.
I can’t remember much after that moment.
All I know is—I want my mom.
Someone I can never call mine again.
A title I’ll never get to speak in the present tense.
They say,
“You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.”
Now, at this age,
I finally understand.
I’d give anything for one more hug,
One more moment of reassurance
That I’m doing something right.
One more chance for her to guide me,
Anywhere at all.
Watching mothers and daughters now,
In real life, on screens, in passing
It all reminds me:
I miss mine.
I miss the chances we never got.
The laughter we could have shared.
The silence that would’ve meant understanding.
The secrets we never whispered.
The knowing look that only a mother gives.
The steady, unquestioned love.
The warmth that never needed explanation.
I just… miss her.
Everything in my life reminds me she’s gone.
And that I’ll never know her love
Or feel her protection.
For 24 years,
My life has been a blur.
A dream-like state—without dreams.
No dreams of her.
No dreams of me.
Just a thing blown about in the wind.
Just a blur.
[…] noticing how often they mask symptoms rather than address the root cause. I looked at my family: my mother lost to cancer, and witnessing my father, for most of my life, relying on expensive medications, that seemed to […]