I Wish I Could Call My Mom - Just to Chat

I lost my mom when I was 15. Back then, grief felt loud—like a storm crashing through the walls of my life, uprooting everything I knew. But now, as an adult, it's quieter. It sneaks up on me in the still moments. It lingers in the silence after a long day. It whispers in the spaces where her voice should be.

There are so many things I wish I could ask her. So many ordinary moments where I catch myself thinking, I should call my mom. Not for anything dramatic or earth-shattering—just to chat.

I want to tell her about the weird dream I had last night. I want to ask her if she remembers that dog we got because I remembered a phone number. I want to hear her opinion on the things I have done. I want to talk to her about my day.

Sometimes I wonder how she'd react to the person I've become. Would she be proud? Would she recognize pieces of herself in me? There are so many parts of adulthood I thought would make me feel independent—but instead, they just make me miss her more.

I see people on their phones, laughing with their moms, arguing with them, calling them just to fill a quiet drive home. I smile, because I know what a gift that is. And I ache, because I can’t do it.

Grief doesn't go away. It just changes. The ache of losing my mom at 15 has softened over the years, but the longing has only deepened. I don’t want to call her because something’s wrong—I want to call her because everything is just…normal. And I wish she could be part of that, too.

So to those who can still call their mom, just to chat—do it. Not because something’s wrong, just because you can.

And for the rest of us, who carry our mothers in memory—we keep talking to them anyway, in the quiet moments, hoping somehow they’re still listening.