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I Can’t Pick Up the Phone

I wanted to pick up the phone and call you. I wanted to sing you happy birthday in my latest rendition, with the highest and longest and worst pitches possible. I wanted to hear you say "Wow Haddles, that's was something. Thank you" and hear you laugh.

I wanted to call and tell you I had a really bad morning at work and hear you say "who do I need to call?" And make me laugh.

I wanted to call you and tell you the 10mg might need to go up to 20 if the stress keeps at this same pace and hear you say "well just take it with a little Makers Mark and it's the same dosage" and make me smile.

I wanted to call and tell you that I was going to be on stage again and hear you say "well can I come? Are you going to make fun of me like when you did stand up? I mean I am your mother and I'm a great subject" and feel that joy in my heart.

I wanted to call and tell you that we need a keynote speaker for an event and hear you say "well I can do it" in that West Virginia Southeast Texas twang and bring a smile to my face.

I wanted to call and tell you I'm scared to do this thing called adulting without you. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell you I'm sad and stressed out. I wanted to call and tell you my boss said he was proud of me and my old team came and supported me. I wanted to tell you I'm ready to get a dog again. I want to pick up the phone and yell so loud that you'll somehow be able to answer.

I just want to call you again. But instead, I just talk to you in the sky, in my heart, through my written words, in the smiles of the girls faces and in the stories we share.

But I'm just wanting you to know, that I am going to be okay, I am okay, but I miss you. And you not only just were, you very much still are, loved.

I didn't get 20,000 steps like I wanted to honor your birthday, but I had a bourbon and I looked out amongst the crowd of inspirational women I was with, and I heard you clink your glass to mine. I'm

grateful you were ours, mom.

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