The Problem with Players (Problem #2)

by Brittainy C. Cherry

And the only thing that kept crossing my mind as I sobbed into the pillowcase was how deeply I wished Mama was there to hug me. To hold me. To tell me everything would be fine. I deserved more time with her. I deserved more comfort through heartbreaks and more laughter during the happy days. I deserved to be able to call her whenever the world was swallowing me whole. I deserved her comforting voice to remind me that everything would be okay, even if it seemed like nothing would ever be okay again. I deserved more of her love, and I wished she was there to hold me in her arms as if I were still her little girl. It wasn’t fair that mamas could die. Their daughters still needed them so very much, no matter how much we grew up.

This took me down. Like hard cry.

Unfortunately, a mother’s love couldn’t be found in other places. It couldn’t be replaced by other forms of comfort.

Also made me cry.

Sometimes asking for help is the strongest thing a person could ever do.”

“I once read a quote by a person named Jamie Anderson that said, ‘Grief is just love with no place to go.’