They say, “The most sincere form of flattery is imitation.”  This is never more true than when seen in a mother-daughter bond.

I wake up every day missing you so much I swear my heart stops and I seriously can’t breathe as tears FLOOD my face yet again. I try making coffee or feeling pretty through that. I listen to your voice mails. I talked with Jim about you yesterday. Bawled my eyes out.

We didn’t get along so well and fought badly.  I’m not going to sugar coat it.  I guess you taught me well.  Some of my relatives get pissy because I share life on my social outlet, Facebook or don’t tell me stuff because they THINK I’ll share. We all have our own methods for dealing with life or hiding.  Trying to reach out in our imperfections and shared pain to no avail.  Alone.  Wronged, yet still I try.  I guess we all learned something about being stubborn.

My handful of friends don’t hit me up to hang out, come over, or get together. Am I plagued?  I’m even less social now since you left us,  putting on my happy face. Well, you are my mother. Gone and I’m a mess.  Troy’s suicide didn’t prepare me for this.  I had no idea your monumental impact that I’d mimicked, until you died. How the hell did THAT happen.  “I don’t wanna be anything like you,” I’d swear!  Your stubborn, strong-willed, defiant redheaded child.  “That’s my Wendy!”  In the strangest, twisted, weird way, you were my best friend in all the shitty moments anchored in arguing.  But, I’m just like you as a chatter box, opinionated, without much of a filter, standing my ground, stubborn to my core, and sassy taking aim at people under my breath.  I think of a lifetime shared with you talking about the things that made me a woman and determined homemaker, down to the smallest of detail, asking still for advice at 50.  All of it.  Needing my mom and crying with you.  Because I missed you and just wanted to love you and brush your hair. To serve you.  To take care of you.   Asking, to try and come see you. Asking in advance because I didn’t want to upset you and due to the hardship I can never seem to escape. Told no several times. “Timing isn’t right for Danielle and I to come,” but your other children did.  It stung.  I didn’t want to fight or upset your health.  Now you’re gone and it pisses me off.  I’m glad you called me often and I you, to set the record straight on the powerful mother-daughter bonds of love and friendship I questioned, but we definitely shared. People can say whatever they want about that.

My mentor, my ever present guide even in anger and frustration. Our shared physical and health ailments, competetive like sisters, brats, both full of a prideful need to always be right. You’d never admit it in a million years. Longing, but never giving in to defeat with apologies.  Hell no.  Holding my ground.  Just.  Like.  You……Yes, I am a deep reflection of you.  It’s hard to let down my guard once hurt.  Just.  Like.  You.  I’m glad we cleared the air and I apologized for ever hurting you.  That I always need you.  Proving a point suddenly became pointless.  A stroke for the win?  That it felt like old times once again and I was holding your hand as you taught me to be strong and not show fear and sadness.  Your immobility crushed your spirit and mine.  All the hurtful memories thrown out the window.

I’m grappling daily as my life mimics you at every, single, turn as a woman. Talking about bra support, spices for cooking, how to weed a garden, types of cleansers, starching clothes, FOREVER shining through me like a blinding beacon.  Obsessive need to get things right, but falling short somehow.  I’m trying to embrace it, realizing it’s you, still beside me, holding my hand……telling me not to cry…..as we cry anyway.  I hear you still.  I love you momma.  I love you so much.

The most sincere form of flattery is imitation.  Indeed it is.