Sundays are the worst!
They used to be the best.
I am still learning my new normal without my mom.
It's still new.
It's still hard.
Most days are easier because I fill them up with busy.
I fill my days with the "Protestant work ethic" of which mom spoke.
"Work hard. Work until it's done and then work some more."
"It won't kill you," she said.
Sundays are the worst!
She's gone.
I'm still working.
I'm still hurting.
I used to call her everyday on the trip home.
I would hit the edge of town and turn east rolling past tiny farms.
I would voice dial her to just say hello and ask how she is.
I am 524 miles, one right and one left turn away from the place I want to be.
Sundays are the worst.
I used to spend a lot of time with her on Sundays.
We would go to church, then lunch.
Mom died on a Sunday.
Ironic since that's when we lived the most.
Mom loved to worship on Sundays.
She loved to sing hymns, see friends, eat lunch after church.
She always had gum, candy and tissues in her purse.
She wore Lauren cologne by Ralph Lauren.
She always dressed up.
Sundays were the best!
Sundays are the worst!
~Anne
