My Mom’s Never
My Mom’s Never
There are some losses language will never be big enough to hold.
I have tried. I have written books full of love and grief and men who would burn the world down for the women they love.
I have written heartbreak, healing, found family, forever promises, and impossible second chances.
But nothing I have ever written has prepared me for the kind of missing that comes after losing you.
I wasn’t ready for only forty-seven years of memories. I wasn’t ready for the rest of my life to become a collection of Nevers.
Never calling you again. Never hearing your laugh. Never sending you a new idea and waiting for you to tell me you loved it. Never getting one more ordinary day. Never having you here for all the things I still need my mom for.
In this book, Bliss keeps her Nevers because grief needs somewhere to go. Something to hold. Something small enough to carry when the missing feels too big to survive. And somewhere along the way, I realized I had given her something I needed too.
So now, Mom, I’m going to scour the earth for a marble worthy of you.
One that somehow holds all the love, all the ache, all the memories, all the things I still wish I could hand you.
I’ll find one, and when I do, I’ll share this book with you in the only way I can now.
I’ll place it with all the Nevers I never wanted, and I’ll let it stand for the biggest one of all. Never enough time.
I hope God lets you read this from Heaven.
I hope He lets you know that even gone, you are still guiding me.
Still inspiring me. Still showing up in the softest parts of my stories and the strongest parts of me.
I hope you know that every time I write a mother’s love, every time I write a daughter surviving the impossible, every time I write grief into something beautiful instead of letting it swallow me whole, some piece of that is you. It will always be you.
This book is for every daughter living inside a Never.
And it is for you, Mom.
Because even in the missing, even in the ache, even in the life I have to keep living without you here, your love is still the marble I carry.
Small enough to hold and too sacred to ever let go.