It was a stormy day in the middle of August where everything seemed on edge and you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. I chose to sprawl out on my bed and let the never-ending thoughts roll over me. I’ve been stressing for days over my issues with my mother. We had our latest fight a few weeks ago at the end of July and we have barely talked since the screaming match. Well, I wouldn’t say it was a match. If anything, it was a race where my legs disappeared and my mom was halfway to the finish line. I fell into the habit of staying at my dad’s house instead of facing the knotted feeling in my gut when I went to my mom’s house. 

I turn to my side, covering my face with my blanket. The darkness allowed me to see old memories of my relationship with my mother, flashing through my mind like a movie on a film projector. 

The wind ruffled my freshly cut hair and water droplets rolled down my bare arms as I paddled to the middle of the lake where my mom sat in her own kayak.

Her long blonde hair was let down and slightly moving from the wind. She never let her hair down. It was always tied up because that was how she wore it when she worked. It seemed like she was always working. Her sun-damaged skin that didn’t even look damaged was dark and glistening. She looked calm and at peace. I took in the scene because it was such a rare sight to see.

I stopped my kayak right next to hers and looked at the overwhelmingly large lake like she was. The silence was comfortable. “You know Gilmore Girls?” I asked her.

“Of course,” She turned to look at me as a half-smile started to appear on her face, “It’s not like you talk about it all the time.”

She was right. I had watched the show over and over again until I had most big moments memorized. I laughed, “You’re the Lorelai to my Rory.”

A soft smile started to spread across my mother’s face and her crows feet around her eyes popped out. Seeing her smile was one of my favorite things. Her laugh was better though because it was one of those laughs that nobody else could have. It was genuine, loud, and full of joy.

She softly took a hold of the side of my kayak to pull us closer. “That’s all I want to be.”

I move my blanket and let the light wash over my face. I slowly sit up and feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I grab my phone to see my mom’s contact already pulled up. How does one even begin to do this? I start writing the text message.

Thirty minutes later, I finally hit send. I couldn’t even call her. I am a coward.

I had come to realize that boys aren’t the only ones that can break your heart. Parents can too. Calling my mom and having to tell her I didn’t want to live with her anymore would’ve drained me to the point where I needed to lay in bed for days on end to recover. Hearing her voice, hearing her pain, hearing the end of our amazing bond, it would’ve been too much. 

Sadness and pain from deep within finally releases and the tears course down my cheeks like a river that escaped a dam. Most of the pain came from my longing for how it used to be before my mom was taken away from me by depression and alcohol. 

I lay back down and cover my tired body with the blanket. I hadn’t even done anything that day, but I felt like I had just ran a marathon. I close my eyes and I’m back at the lake. Back under the warm sun and cool wind with my mom beside me. Her laugh echoed across the water as we talked about nonsense like we always did.

The memory felt far away, but still close to my heart. She was the Lorelai to my Rory after all. She was my best friend.