MISSING MOM

Sometimes, if I listen carefully,

I can hear her rustling through the breeze,

as it gently glides through the trees.

I am reminded of the short time we spent together,

singing in the kitchen, or watching television,

even the smallest things seem so important now.

I can smell her light perfume,

the way it used to waft through the air

on a warm summer day,

sunshine glistening off her graying hair.

She would hum and I swear a thousand angels

were listening to her from above,

because the entire room would brighten.

Today I sit by her graveside,

tears sliding down my cheeks and onto my jeans.

I don't cry only for her anymore.

I cry for the pity that has built up inside me for so long.

I cry for selfish reasons now,

for all the times we could have shared,

for the look of pride on her face

as she watched her grandchildren grow,

for the simplistic loving ways,

that only a mother and daughter can share.