The Day Before Mother’s Day
There’s a quiet heaviness today. Like my heart is trying to breathe through a memory. I cried this morning. Not loudly — just the kind of tears that slip out when love and loss live too close together. I thought of her — my mom. How we sat beside her when she took her last breath. How beautiful she looked, even in goodbye. How the world felt both completely still and impossibly broken all at once. She used to play “I Hope You Dance” for us — her favourite song, the one she dedicated to her children. “ I hope you never lose your sense of wonder… ” Even now, those words feel like a whisper from her. A reminder to keep going. To keep feeling. To keep dancing, even when the music hurts. And I thought of my own children. Of all the ways I wish I could be the kind of mother they deserve. Of how much I miss them — in the ordinary, everyday ways. Their voices. Their hugs. The way they still see me with hope in their eyes, even when I struggle to see myself the same way. It’s the...