There is religion in wearing your mother’s clothes.
I am wearing my mom’s old Super Bowl XLIV tee and her sweatpants that say “royalty” on the back.
It’s been 108 days since I hugged my mother. Or my brother. Or my sister. Or my Gamma.
108 days of work. 108 days of new courses. 108 days of new challenges. 108 days without hugging my mom.
So on a day like today, when I wake up missing my family, I do what I can to remind myself that no matter how many miles separate us, they are always with me.
I call them and belly laugh on the way to class. I look at photos of my sister before her melanin developed (I swear, she was the whitest baby I’d ever seen). I FaceTime them and coddle our cat through the screen. I put on my mom’s clothes and carry her with me.
Every time I catch a glimpse of those stupidly stunning Flatirons, I think about them. I am indescribably grateful for the opportunities I’ve been granted recently.
Two weeks ago, I received news that after a long and rigorous battle, my housemates and I had been accepted into an apartment community. Last week, I turned 21; an age I’ve believed I was since I was 13-years-old. I’m staying in Colorado over the summer. I’ll be able to work and even pick up a second job to make some extra funds.
After a tough few months, I feel the beginning of happy again. As I said, I’m more than grateful for everything and everyone who has helped me get to this point. I’m not the type to sit and dwell on what I want when I clearly see a beautiful life happening right before my eyes.
But if I could change one thing, I wouldn’t ask for more money (oh, but it would be nice!), I wouldn’t ask for more friends. I would have my mom and Gamma right here beside me.
I will rest the pen on my calloused ring finger, like my mother, and sign the lease on my first apartment. I will wear outfits my sister would laugh at. I will walk around my current neighborhood listening to my brother’s favorite album (Frank Ocean’s “Blonde”). I will be proud of myself in a way that my Gamma would be proud to see with her own eyes.
Even though I can’t physically hug them, I feel my family all the time. It’s been 108 days since I’ve hugged my mom, but it hardly feels like it.
Call your family today. Tell them you love them. And if you have the privilege, go home and hug your mother.