When missing Mama meets midweek madness

Y'all. If you read my last post about surviving nurse-mom duty, you know I was DONE. Capital D, period, end of sentence, somebody come get me DONE.

Well, guess what? Life said "cute, but we're not finished with you yet."

It's Wednesday. Hump day. The day when you're supposed to be sliding into the back half of the week feeling accomplished and put together. Instead, I'm sitting here looking at a to-do list that's longer than a CVS receipt, trying to remember what I was doing before my world became a rotation of fever checks and cartoon marathons.

You know that feeling when you've been "off" for a week and you're trying to play catch-up, but catch-up feels more like chase-down? Like you're running after your own life with a butterfly net, hoping to scoop up some semblance of control?

My inbox is screaming at me with 247 unread emails. My calendar looks like someone threw appointments at it with a slingshot. There are bills staring at me from the kitchen counter like they're personally offended I haven't acknowledged their existence. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm fantasizing about the day when I can write all day, paint until my fingers are stained with every color, make hilarious videos that make people laugh until they snort.

The day when I can feel FREE. Not chained to bills, not performing the delicate dance of "which expense can I push to next week," not calculating whether I can afford to dream or if dreaming is a luxury I can't afford right now.

But then, right in the middle of my catch-up chaos, grief decided to crash the party.

I was organizing my desk, you know, trying to adult my way back into productivity, when I found this random note I'd written to myself last month. Something about a grocery list, nothing important. But my handwriting... it looked just like my Mama's. That same slanted "g," the way I dot my "i's" with a little circle instead of a dot.

And just like that, I'm Grumpy Bear. You know, that Care Bear with the perpetual rain cloud hanging over its head? Actually, that's not right. It's Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. "Oh, bother." That's me. "Oh, bother" about everything because suddenly the cloud is back and I'm missing my mama so hard it feels like a physical ache. I have a picture of her in my daughter's play area, I found myself just standing there and staring at her, an ache formed in my chest and another tear parachuted off my face. 🪂😭

My mama told me once, she said, "My mama has been gone for over 40 years and I still miss her." I was younger then, and I thought, "Forty years? Surely the pain gets easier." But now I understand. It's not that the pain gets worse or better, it just changes shape. Some days it's a dull background hum, and other days it's a tsunami that shows up when you're just trying to organize your desk.

Missing her makes me feel like that character in Winnie the Pooh who just walks around going "Oh, Pooh..." because what else is there to say? There's no fix for missing someone who was your phone-a-friend, your voice of reason, your cheerleader, and your reality check all rolled into one.

She would have laughed at my email situation. She would have said something like, "Girl, delete half of them. If it was important, they'll send it again." She had this way of cutting through my overwhelm with practical wisdom that made everything feel manageable.

But she's not here to help me sort through the chaos. She's not here to tell me which bill to pay first or to remind me that I'm stronger than I think. She's not here to listen to my dreams about creative freedom and tell me to "stop talking about it and be about it" in that loving but firm way she had.

So here I am, Wednesday afternoon, trying to adult my way through catch-up mode while carrying this Eeyore cloud that whispers,

 "What's the point anyway?"

But you know what? Maybe the point is that I'm still here. Still trying. Still dreaming about painting all day and making videos that make people laugh. Still believing that somewhere beyond these bills and this overwhelm, there's a version of my life where I get to create freely.

Maybe the point is that missing her means I was loved well. That the ache is proof of the beauty we had. That carrying her voice in my head, even when it's just telling me to delete half my emails, means she's still here in the ways that matter.

Maybe the point is that grief and dreams can coexist. That I can miss my mama AND still reach for the creative freedom she always wanted for me. That I can have an Eeyore day and still believe in tomorrow's possibility.

The bills are still there. The emails are still screaming. The to-do list is still longer than it should be. But so are the dreams. So is the hope. So is the love that doesn't end just because someone is gone.

If you're navigating your own grief journey, especially the loss of your mother, this Daughter's Grief Journal has been a gentle companion on the hard days. Sometimes putting words to the missing helps carry the weight.

Some days you're the butterfly. Some days you're the net. And some days you're Eeyore with a rain cloud, trying to remember that even Eeyore had friends who loved him exactly as he was.

Today I'm Eeyore. Tomorrow, maybe I'll be ready to chase down that life I've been dreaming about.

But for now, I'm going to sit with this cloud and honor the love that created it.

Oh, Pooh.

---

Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. If you purchase through these links, I may receive a small commission at no extra cost to you. This helps support my blog and allows me to continue sharing these honest moments with you.

Don't forget to check out my podcasts where we dive deeper into grief, dreams, and the beautiful mess of healing.

Missing her means I was loved well. And if you're carrying your own Eeyore cloud today, you were loved well too.

Love 🧡 ItsTechNicole