I miss her.
I miss our elaborate plans to ditch school. I miss sitting in crappy restaurants laughing our heads off in the middle of the night. I miss watching sad movies that made us cry. I miss cruising State Street and sitting at the light pretending to get into screaming fights and laughing at the reactions in the cars around us. I miss singing to Grease and Springsteen. I miss yelling "New Kids Rule!" I miss sitting on the floor in my room talking and giggling and eating chocolate. I miss our starry-eyed plans to be rich and famous and amazing.
I hate that I have hardly any pictures of us. We didn't have cell phones, and who would bother with a camera? Besides, the stupid stuff we did together didn't seem noteworthy enough to document, and more likely than not, we didn't want any evidence for our parents to see.
I hate that I never told her how much she meant to me. How as a teenager, she made me feel cool when I was awkward, and loved when I was insecure.
I hate that it's too late to tell her now.
I hate that I was too lazy, or too proud, or too indifferent to send her a message on Facebook. I hate that I just thought that too much time had passed, and if she was interested, she would be the one to reconnect with me. I hate that she was suffering and desperate and alone, and I wasn't there to help her. I hate that there are four kids feeling guilty and hollow and wondering what happened to their mom.
I love that I have memories. I love that I have a heart on my ankle that will always remind me of a crazy night in a tattoo parlor. I love that she gave me my first bottle of grown-up perfume. I love that I can almost remember her giggly laugh if I try hard enough. I love that I still have her packet of bobby-pins that she made me promise to return after graduation, but I just hadn't gotten around to it. I love that she was part of my life and that she saw in me something special, and that we connected.
I love that she is at peace now.
