Today, my brother and I are remembering the death of our mother. I’ve never been great with emotions, but I have been ok with writing so I figured the best way to get all my feelings out there was to write a letter. This post will likely veer away from the happy, light feel that usually is found on this blog, so keep that in mind before reading further.
It’s hard to believe that it was 2 years ago today that I experienced the worst day of my life. 2 years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. But you know what? It stills feels like it was just yesterday that I got that phone call from dad telling me that I needed to come home right away and that I sat in your hospital room saying my goodbyes. And in 2 more years (or 20), I bet it will still feel exactly the same.
They say that time heals all wounds. Well, time is having a hell of a time trying to heal this open, painful wound that I still have from your loss. Sure, I don’t wake up every morning wanting to cry, but that doesn’t mean I miss you any less. I miss you every single day. I still can’t listen to Lonestar’s “Amazed” without hearing you sing it, or catch a whiff of Coco Chanel perfume without having a clear image of you pop into my head. And I certainly can’t experience anything too happy or sad without getting teary-eyed, knowing that the person who used to share those experiences with me is no longer around to share. Despite all that, there are times when I feel like you never actually left. Some days, I’ll get in my car with a need to talk to someone, even if I have nothing to talk about, and the first person I think to call is you. Two years ago, I couldn’t stand the “nothing” calls I would have with you almost every day (at the time, I never understand the need to talk when there was nothing to talk about), but now I’d give anything to have those calls with you again.
These past 2 years have been rough without you. Dad’s doing a great job (just like you know he always did), but sometimes there are things that only a mom can make better. But, if these past two years have taught me anything, they’ve taught me that while I may never be able to talk on the phone with you, lay on the couch watching CSI and eating popcorn with, or chow down on some sushi with you, I still haven’t lost you completely. Everyday, you’re in my thoughts and dreams, and little by little, you’ve made your way into my actions. Growing up, I swore I would never become you, but I’ve come to realize that there is no one I would rather be like than you. You were never afraid to be yourself (crazy sense of style and all), whether others liked it or not. You worked hard to give me and Stuart the best life possible – something we never took enough time to truly appreciate, and will never be able to repay you for. And most importantly, you believed in love and the true good in people for better or worse, which is something that I just don’t see enough of anymore, but will do my best to help others think that way too.
Mom, I miss you every day, but as long as I continue to live the way I know you would have wanted and as long as I remember you and the life lessons you worked hard to teach me and Stuart, you’ll never truly be gone.
I hope they’re treating you well up in heaven, and that you have lots of friends, a comfy couch to watch movies on, and a secret stash of Godiva chocolates to snack on (and I hope you’re saving one or two for me when I come join you in 4 or 5 decades).
I love you more than I thought possible and I miss you more than you know.
Always and forever,