This past week was a heavy heart week. They come and go…heavy hearts.

Boy, do I miss my mom. I get a phone call with her every week from her memory care home, but it’s short. Sometimes it’s sweet and sometimes it rips my heart out and grinds it into the floor. Her voice can sound so vulnerable and confused. Sometimes angry. I feel so sad for her. And for me. I have a hard time believing God would have wanted this for her. She’s been a solid person, someone who has lived through World War II in London, cared for a husband with cancer and stood by another husband and his family who had a whole bunch of issues.

I wish I could go into that memory care home and bring her to my house. Cure her. Let her enjoy my children like she used to….she’d love to see how my daughter as grown into a lady, how my son has grown big, strong and a gentleman. She’d be so happy cradling my cats, or helping fold laundry or sharing a meal at our table.

I can’t think of her without tears welling up and my throat feeling raw from the attempt not to break into a million pieces.

I wish I was stronger, more resilient. I’m so thankful for the times we shared, for the laughs, hell, I’m even sort of grateful for the fights. I can duke it out with the best of them thanks to her. I’d just love to have one more day. One more day of her clear headed, completely with me. My heart is heavy