By Madison Sabados 
I tried to call her today. It has been a little over three years since she has been gone, and I tried to pick up the phone and call her. I saw the most beautiful sunrise on my way to work and thought, I’ve got to call my mama.
It has been three years, and yet for a split second, my brain had me convinced she was just a phone call away. For a split second, I was just a girl, wanting to talk to my mom on the way to work. Almost like my heart just hasn’t caught up to what my brain already knows.
I was ready to tell her about this sunrise, as if she didn’t already have the best view of it. As if she didn’t have a hand in painting it that morning. There were so many things I wanted to say to her. I was ready to tell her about what I was going to cook for dinner, what book I’m reading, and what my favorite song is right now. I was ready to tell her how work has been, what my favorite show on TV is right now, and all about the people in my life now.
I was ready to tell her. About it all. And then, within seconds, that wave of grief came and pulled me under. It finally hit me that I haven’t heard her voice or her laugh in over three years and that I won’t ever hear it again. I won’t ever be able to pick up that phone and tell her anything. So in my quiet car on a Thursday morning, I let it go to voicemail. I let it play all the way through, just so I could hear the end. “I’ll call you back when I can.”
So for now, I will pick up the phone and find my favorite videos of her. Any video with even a glimpse of her voice or laughter, and I watch it until I am content.
If you are still able, pick up the phone, call your mama, and tell her everything.
by Christie Lynn 
by Autumn Brooke 
by Marissa Bader 
