I Miss You

I miss the smell of the greens and the clanging of the clubs as you let me drive the golf cart and scribbled down your score. I miss the feeling of walking into a warm, clean home with the smell of dinner wafting through the air and a friend trailing behind me. I miss pulling up a chair to talk to you and dad as you held hands and sipped Merlot from your wine glasses. I miss our countless trips to the drugstore and through the McDonald's drive through as you complained about my music, though I would stick in a CD I had burned anyway. I miss the way you'd laugh until you peed, tears streaming down your face. I miss walking down the stairs and watching as you worked on the crafts you were always so talented with. I miss your constant support over my latest poem or novel or magazine. I miss your cuddles. I miss your presence. I miss everything.

I wouldn't miss the ghost of a marriage between two of the most important people in my life that haunts me constantly. I wouldn't miss how holidays always seem to be a constant reminded that I no longer get to spend them with you. I wouldn't miss seeing the hurt in my dads eyes that he covers up with anger, though I'll never forget the day I saw him cry. I wouldn't miss the smell of your cigarettes as they perfume your clothes, your car, your body. I wouldn't miss his laugh, the way he calls you babe, the way he holds your hand. I wouldn't miss your new house with your new dog and your new life.

I wouldn't miss any of it at all.

And if only I could go back in time and relive how things used to be, if only for a day.

I would hold onto that day with everything I had.

Because the saying really is true; you don't know know what you have until its gone.

Hey, mom.

I miss you.