Good Red Herring

I miss my mother.

Right on the edge of dreaming, it feels like I miss her the most.
Because that's when I see her - her face, her walk. That's when
I remember what it felt like to hug her. What her hair felt like in my hands.

I haven't read about the stages of grieving. About
what happens when you lose a loved one.
Because I know I miss my mother.

I miss her every day.

I miss her when I'm waiting for the bus and can't call her,
when I see something beautiful and can't send her a picture.
I miss her when I feel bad and can't cry in her ear.

I just miss my mother.