I Wish I Could Call My Mom – Just to Chat

I lost my mom when I was 15. Back then, grief felt loud. like a storm crashing through the walls of my life, uprooting everything I knew. But now, as an adult, it’s quieter. It sneaks up on me in the still moments. It lingers in the silence after a long day. It whispers in the spaces where her voice should be.

There are so many things I wish I could ask her. So many ordinary moments where I catch myself thinking, I should call my mom. Not for anything dramatic or earth-shattering, but just to chat.

I want to tell her about the weird dream I had last night. I want to ask her if she remembers that dog we got because I remembered a phone number. I want to hear her opinion on the things I have done. I want to talk to her about my day.

Sometimes I wonder how she’d react to the person I’ve become. Would she be proud? Would she recognize pieces of herself in me? There are so many parts of adulthood I thought would make me feel independent, but instead, they just make me miss her more.

I see people on their phones, laughing with their moms, arguing with them, calling them just to fill a quiet drive home. I smile, because I know what a gift that is. And I ache, because I can’t do it.

Grief doesn’t go away. It just changes. The ache of losing my mom at 15 has softened over the years, but the longing has only deepened. I don’t want to call her because something’s wrong, I want to call her because everything is just…normal. And I wish she could be part of that, too.