This morning I woke up at 9:47 a.m. It was that perfect time in which I was both well rested but also felt like I still had much of the day in front of me.
This morning I woke up at 9:47 a.m. to four texts, two missed calls and a voicemail all from you.
The texts started asking about how my day was going and asking where I left that bottle of lotion I borrowed. They progressed into wondering if I was still asleep and ending with three dagger-like words: “I’m getting worried.” I can only imagine your anxiety when I didn’t pick up the phone the first two times followed by your insurmountable urge to leave a voicemail desperately requesting I call you as soon as I get it.
Mom, despite the fact the first words I coldly mumbled to you when I called you back were “It’s only 10am,” I want you to know, I love that you worry.
It pains me to think of your thoughts wandering to scary, far off places, but it comforts me to know that I’m being thought of in the first place. Every time my phone buzzes and I have a message or call from you, the 962 miles between us doesn’t seem so vast.
I want you to know that I worry too; I worry when we’re together, and I worry when we’re apart. Mostly, I worry that you worry too much.
I guess that’s why I’m my mother’s daughter.
Thinking of you always,