Tonight at dinner my kiddos started talking about how much they miss their Memeré. (French-Canadian for grandmother)
They grinned as they told story after story of all the things they missed. You could feel the love from their hearts by the twinkle in their eyes.
I listened with tears and a smile.
They giggled and envisioned how our lives would look if my mother was still here. When they finished being lost between the past and an imaginary future, my daughter looked at me with the most intentional tone and said, “Mom, I just really miss Memerè.”
And it hurt. And it stung. And I felt helpless.
Because she always will.
And there is nothing I can do to change it.
A harsh reality of grief.
A harsh reality of motherhood.
A harsh reality.
