Mommy

My mommy is dead. I'll never hear her voice or feel her arms around me, or anything else ever again. I'm on an airplane, flying back to Seattle. And I'm struck by how, in my grief and despair, life is going on all around me. I'm sitting in the window seat and there are 2 younger men (late 20's, early 30's?) next to me. Currently, they're taking about their young children. The stages their babies are in. What their babies are doing emotionally, physically. But. They're ALL young, Dads included. And I'm sitting here, listening to their conversation, holding back my tears which threaten to explode at any given moment since Mommy died, and I'm struck by how life just hasn't stopped. Stood still. For all of humanity, the way it has for me. I'm hollow. Empty. Raw. And the dudes next to me are telling stories about their toddlers. How is that possible? How does life continue to swirl around me, when, my life, as I know it, is standing still? Motionless. Unwilling and unbelieving. My entire being yearns and pleads for Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. I just want my Mommy.