Monday, January 19, 2009

January 19, 2009

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I’ve not written the past couple of days. I was feeling better and didn’t have the aching need to write that I did last week. Unfortunately that also means the pain has built up again and I find myself desperately reaching out to you in the only way that seems to help. Some days it doesn’t seem real that you’re truly gone. Today is one of those days. I know it seems selfish to ask, but why did you have to go now? Was I doing something wrong that you had to leave at this particular point in my life? If so, I am truly sorry. I’d change it if I could. Death is such a hard thing to bear. It doesn’t scare me, not anymore, but it’s so very hard to be separated from the people we love and you are definitely at the top of that list. I think that’s normal for a girl to love her mother so much. I think it’s normal for any child to love their mother that much and though I know you didn’t want it, I would have much preferred for you to die in your sleep sometime a decade or two down the road. Then again, maybe I would never be ready to lose you. It’s just so hard when it was so sudden and I didn’t really get to tell you good-bye, not so that I knew you heard me. You gave me the chance when you told me to let you go and I didn’t listen. I told you it was up to Heavenly Father instead of telling you right then that if you had to go it would be okay. I just couldn’t say it. I couldn’t hardly even say it when I knew you were going to be leaving.

Oh, it hurts so much. I try to fill my life with good things but the hurt inside of me is all consuming. It eats me alive and the only thing that seems to bring peace is writing and the spirit. Food’s not doing it. Caffeine isn’t doing it. Lack of sleep certainly isn’t doing it. Only writing. With that being the case you’d think I’d be writing more but it’s still a rare thing. I did write this week though. One chapter with the start of a second on a new story, but then you probably already know that. It’s different from what I usually do, but I really like the idea and am excited to do something with it. I’m going to submit it to Brandon’s group this week for critique and try to prepare it for submission in the contest for the storymakers contest again this year. I’m going to actually try to win this time around and polish them before I send them in. Of course I actually need to sign up for the conference first, but I’ll get to it. I’m waiting for the end of the month when Gary gets paid again. It won’t be quite such a financial stretch if I do.

I don’t know what I’d do without these letters to you. They have been a miracle in helping me deal with losing you. It still hurts every day, but I have more decent days and less of those I-don’t-want-to-even-crawl-out-of-bed days. Sometimes I remember you at the oddest of times. Not for me to remember, but remembering you in your daily life. Coming down to sit on your bed and tell you about my day while you lay there in your red silky pajama top with no bottom on. Or standing outside the pantry and silently waiting for you to come out so I could scare you. Just glancing out the backyard I can see you in y our shorts and sunhat bending over in the garden or hobbling around behind the lawnmower. I remember giving you polarity when the board fell over and cracked you on the head and how worried I was that I would lose you then. I remember the sheer joy and excitement in your voice when I spoke to you on the phone while I was in the Phoenix airport when you got your copy of the book with your stories. You couldn’t wait to read them to me so did it right there on the phone and I was so very proud of you. My mom, the published author. Finally able to realize her dream. I’m so glad you had that blessing before you passed away. It was like the achievement of a lifetime and for them to be spiritual stories only made it that much more about you. You know what I miss the most though? This: just sitting and talking to you about nothing important. Or sometimes a casual conversation would turn into something profound. I just loved talking to you. That is why I think the letters work better than anything. It gives me a chance to at least express to you what I’m saying and though I can’t hear your voice sometimes I think I can hear you chuckle or hear a response like you would have said it. Of course I always hope it really is you answering me in the only way that you can, but it’s hard to be sure. I miss hearing your words of wisdom. I may not have always agreed with you or accepted everything you said, but I always thought about it and more often than not I found some real gems in your advice. I am a better person for knowing you and blessed beyond measure having been your daughter. I hope I can make you proud, Mom. I only ever wanted you to be happy I was your daughter—as happy as I was and am having you for a mother.

You know, since you passed I find myself going out for Chinese food more often than not. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m trying to become you or just remember you, but it’s definitely become a favorite. Not that it’s good for me, especially not as often as I go out to eat, but I’m trying to make myself feel better in whatever way will help.

Well, it’s really late and I’ve spent more time dilly-dallying than writing, so I’m going to say farewell for tonight and go fix Gary’s lunch for tomorrow. Feel free to stop by and say hello whenever you want. I’d love to know you are there more often. I wish I could give you a hug, but feeling you in my heart and hearing your voice in my head are about as close as I can get for know.

Know that I love you with all my heart.

Eternally yours,


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