Cargo Pants and Tears/Are there enough words?

I have this friend who always used to wear these cargo pants with all these pockets. She wore them so much that it became part of what I associated her with. Pockets, baggy, cool, cargo pants. Her up-to-date phone would always be stored neatly away in one of the pockets and her wallet always in easy reach in a back pocket.

Don't ask me why I remember these particular things. I could say something about someone else who matches and is always cute looking. Another friend wears long skirts and shirts. Loves head scarves and comfy but interesting shoes. These are things I remember. I store away.

In any case. I have never owned a pair of cargo pants and have lately become interested in fashion. Mostly because I discovered I have a love of skirts. This discovery has led me to think that perhaps I like other things that would be considered "cute". or "fashionable". So once in a while, I find a shirt in a store considered fashionable that is my style. In such a store I discovered cargo pants on sale. Automatically I thought, cool! I picked out a color and tried them on and transformed myself into a cargo-wearing lady. They are just the right amount of baggy and tight. Just look good enough to make me feel "cool". But part of me thinks that the reason I really wanted them was perhaps as a tribute to my friend who lives in another state and who I think of often. I was never the cool girl, never really the one that got invited, and never really felt sad about that. But. When my mom died, this friend invited. And that to me. Is enough.

Tears came flowing down today because I watched a video about some parents whose son had gotten killed in a head-on crash. As I watched their raw emotion, my own tears came unflowing and I wept. My grief flowed over me and there was nothing to hold back. I cried. I can't believe it's been four years. Can anyone ever know how that is? To just cry. I've been holding back those tears since the date. Perhaps thinking, it's been this long, maybe I'm OK. But my heart still feels torn to pieces sometimes when I think about it. When I think about my family. My sobs and cries seem to go on through the years as a young girl's heart turning into a woman's mourns her mother's absence.

So I put on the old music. The music I listened to over and over and over again whenever I would feel sad about my mom. Music by Matt Kearney, a song by Superchick. Songs that brought about tears and songs that I could turn up loud and maybe drown out the overwhelming grief. To listen to them again is a reminder. A reminder of her. And a reminder of the impact she had on my life. A reminder to grieve when my spirit needs it. I have pain. I carry scars. And sometimes I feel so lost and sad. Without her. But I am still OK. My smile and my passion for the kids carry me through. Having someone whose been willing to walk a very difficult road relationally with me and loved me through it all reminds me to remember mom in a humble and move-forward kind of way. Nothing will ever change the pain of my mother's death. And

I still miss her.

How I wish she hadn't missed out on these last four years. How deeply I wish she could have seen me grow. I wish I could call her up and ask her about life. Though these are wishes, don't get down on me for wishing. These thoughts are fleeting and tomorrow is a new day.