I woke up this morning missing her.
There was no reason. Nothing triggered it. Today is not a big occasion, nor a special day in our family memory book.
It is just a day.
You see, that’s what it’s like to miss someone who’s gone. You don’t need flashy holidays. You don’t need special occasions. You don’t need to see something, read something.
You just miss them every day.
But some days more than others.
This morning when I woke up, I recognized it immediately. I’ve been missing her for so long now, I no longer have to wonder what’s causing the eyes brimming with tears, nor the pit in the bottom of my belly.
For it’s me, remembering her.
This is the part of grief that others may not always get. They may not understand that a random Saturday on the last weekend of the month could bring you to your knees. I mean, they will recognize that something is wrong; they may even ask. Yet you will find it so incredibly hard for the words to pass your lips:
“I just miss her today, that’s all.”
It’s so easy to invite people into our happy, our pretty, our well put together aesthetics of life.
But inviting people into the ugly? The messy? The uncomfortable?
For some reason, that’s always a little harder.
Can I tell you something though?
Missing her is one of my most favorite things to do.
For it reminds me that I had her. That I was loved by her. That, for a slice of time on this earth, she was mine and I, hers.
So, here’s me inviting you into my mess. On this random day.
I just miss her today, that’s all.
This post originally appeared on Love Always, Heather