This is an ongoing letter to you. These are words that I wish you could read. These are words that want to spill out of me on the phone or sitting across a table from you, but can’t anymore.
It’s been nearly 2 years since you died. I wanted to type ‘you left us,’ but this is a blog, and as such vaguely veiled comments shall be suspended, at least for the moment.
I miss you every day. I’m too young to be without a Mom. No, at 26 I’m not a child anymore… but I still can’t help but feel that you should still be here. You were supposed to still be here.
And so here I am, writing this letter into the great vortex of cyberspace. I write the words not out of some mystical hope that ‘you’ll read them somehow somewhere.’ This is not even just a ‘therapeutic device’ to make me feel ‘better’ on those days when I ache for you so much. It’s not about them somehow getting to you, or feeling like you know what’s going on in my life. Whether you can here the vast number of, “Oh Mamas” that I whisper into darkness, or read these words is a moot point. I just know that somehow I need to write this. I write these letters so that these words can somehow stop rattling around in me. I write them because… I know there is a fellowship of those who have lost in a deep and life-altering way, and part of me hopes that these words might strike a chord to a few of those in the fellowship.
I know that you still ARE… you ARE in that place of great beauty. I saw it on your face in the moments after you were gone. I know that you ARE and that you are in that place, whatever it may be, because that is what hope is.
So these are my letters, Mama. My letters for you.
I love you.
Me
