โMy day doesnโt look anything like yours no matter how hard I try to make itโฆ
Some days I try to pretend like itโs a day where I can call her, but Iโm choosing not to call her instead. Some days I just dial her number to see โCalling Momโ on my phone.
Some days I grab my grief by the horns and I tell it talking to her out loud is good enough. I tell grief I donโt need to hear her voice because her words are etched in my heart.
Yet most days, the reality is, thatโs not good enough and never will be. I wake up and realize all over again, every morning, the reality of my grief. The reality she is still gone and no amount of pleading or begging can bring her back even for one second. Not even for a quick โI love youโ or hug.

Chances are Iโll have exciting news during my day, even something as simple as surviving a grocery store trip with all three children by myself. Iโll want to call her as soon as I get home to tell her.
Maybe Iโll have a bad day and need to just hear her calming voice telling me even when the world feels like itโs against me, sheโs always in my corner, always on my side, even when Iโm wrong.
I can call but she will never pick up.
Iโll have a moment in my day where motherhood seems so overwhelming and I think Iโm failing at everything. That I am not doing everything right or doing the best I can as a mom, and Iโll want to call her and just cry into the phone.
I wonโt have to say anything because sheโs the only one who can understand my tears without the words. Sheโll know all the right things to say. She will know to tell me motherhood is messy, none of us are perfect, and that is the beauty of being a mom: there is no perfect way to do it.
She will tell me I am a great mom and she knows this because she knows my heartโฆ because Iโm part of her.
I can call but she will never call back.

Iโll have a day where I just want to pick up the phone and call my mom and talk for hours and hours about things that matter and things that donโt. Where I want to talk about everything and nothing and somehow get off the phone feeling like all the worldโs problems were solved, at least mine anyways.
I can talk to her about all these things, but she canโt answer back.
Iโll have a moment in time where I am 32 years old and still have questions I want to ask my mom. But I will never be able to get her answers because I was robbed of that time, robbed of the answers to those questions.
As a motherless daughter, my day looks a lot different from yours if you are able to pick up the phone and call your mom.
My day starts and ends differently every single day and always will.โ
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Nikki Pennington of Grief To Hope. You can follow her journey on Instagram and Facebook. Join the Love What Matters family and subscribe to our newsletter.
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โOn our wedding day, my mom gave my husband a note. A note that was just for the two of them.โ
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