She's Dead right?

My mom is dead.
I still can't believe it sometimes.
It's been 15 years and I think about her all the time.

I miss her.
I look into my daughter's big brown eyes and I understand what my mom felt when she looked at me.
I used to ask my mom,"what are you staring at?"
My mom would look at me and gently touch my face with her rough, warm hand, "You. I'm looking at you." she would say.
Now I understand.

I used to look at the furrow in my mom's brow while we rode together in the car.
When I'm driving, I look in my rear view mirror and see that furrow in my brow.
Now I understand.

I miss her.
I wish I had recorded her voice.
I can still hear it in my mind, but it's like a faded recording.
A comforting recording I play when I need  to hear her say,  "This too shall pass."
It's different when your mom says it.

Dead is dead.
That person is really gone.
I know right?
We know right?

There will always be a part of me that doesn't believe it.
I'm not analyzing why.
Somehow, I want the moment to be different, to be better, to be what I want it to be.
It is just the moment.
My mom is just dead.

I can still love her, miss her, and hold her in my heart while I  share her with my kids.

My daughter looked at a picture  of my mom this morning and said, "mommy, that's you!"
I stopped in my tracks in the middle of the kitchen.
"No, that's not me Emma, that was my mom."
"It is you mommy! " She insisted

I felt a sharp tingle squeeze my heart.
My chest got hot, my throat lumped,
Silently, I thought, wait......
That is me.

I love Emma the way she loved me.
Maybe she's not really dead after all.