I wish the good memories flowed as easily as the bad ones.
I wish that details of the millions of conversations I had with my mom were as easy to recall as are the feeling of hitting the cold hospital floor after my mom cried that she was “going to miss the baby.”
I wish I didn’t have to struggle to remember my mom’s hug or strain to hear the sound of her voice in my head.
I wish I didn’t have detailed flashbacks of conversations with doctors, signing a DNR, the hospice room, or the school bus that kept me from getting to my mom in time.
I wish that Derby day and Cinco de Mayo weren’t such sad days.
I wish the details of these days from four years ago would fade. I wish it were harder to remember.
I wish my mom were here.