Missing Her

You never know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

This, we know all too well, lived and learned in different situations.

Most often, I apply this to relationships. And most recently, I’ve applied it to the relationship with my mother.

Reuniting with her last week, we took a much needed mother-daughter trip together. All the things that I remembered about her came back to me – her mannerisms, her funny comments and catchphrases, the looks she gives, her anxious questions, her sadness, her happiness.

For a long time, I’ve forgotten these things, what they looked and felt like. To be up close to those familiarities again made me feel like I’ve been living in a deluded bubble.

Living abroad has had that effect on me, as I’m sure it does for many. You make where you live as comfortable for yourself as possible. Despite how much you try to make it feel homey, a part of you always feels like you’re taking a long vacation. It’s a strange feeling to have, an in-between state where everything has a limitless feeling, but nothing can be solidly grasped.

Temporary. Everything here is temporary. Life in general is temporary. I keep forgetting that.

We always say we miss the people we leave behind, but it doesn’t really hit how much we really miss them until they’re right in front of us. It’d been 284 days since last seeing her. I always feel like a little girl again when I’m around her.

When we hug, I’m a kid, a child, an infant. No other hugs feel like hers. It’s ironic to miss her most when she’s physically closest to me. I suddenly feel like I don’t want us to get older, but instead to just freeze and let the moment suspend.

What happens next is time.

More moments like this will come, I know. But the wait is killer.

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