August 1, 2009

Dear Mom,

I've been avoiding writing for ages again. It's so hard to deal with the feelings so I stuff them deep and pretend everything is okay and you're just gone on some extended vacation most days. I still haven't sold your truck. I can't seem to bring myself to let go of anymore of you than I have to.

I fell apart tonight. Bits and pieces of my walls crumbled down and I melted into a big dribbling pool of emotion. I didn't think I was going to survive this one. I couldn't catch my breath for the pain. Thankfully my four dearest friends came to my rescue tonight, sending their love and hugs via text and chat and somehow after exploding they helped to piece me back together again so I can think.

I've not felt you around much lately. I know you have to let go, just as I do. I know that I've never really cut the apron strings. It was just too hard. I liked the apron strings. They didn't sever even after you left and it's only now, when I finally see some success in my life, that you've snipped them and stepped away. For my good, I am sure, but still it hurts. I don't like standing on my own. I liked leaning on you. You were stronger, wiser, so much better than I and I miss being able to lean on you.

You were right, Mom. Right about so many things. You told me there in the hospital that I'd be okay and needed to let go. I didn't understand it, couldn't say it then, but you were right. I'm going to be okay. I feel it now. I still miss you. I ache for you every day, wake with memories of you bubbling through my head, and go to sleep with remembered kisses and bedtime songs. Sometimes I imagine you sitting at the side of my bed, stroking my hair like you so often did, and just being there with me as I drift into sleep. Other times I imagine you sitting next to me in the car and remember all the conversations we had together, whether on long trips or just a jaunt into Salt Lake. Of all my memories, I am most grateful for the time we shared talking and sharing our souls. I miss my friend in you the most.

It's finally happening, Mom. You always believed in me and my writing. You always told me it was going to happen, that it wasn't an "if" but a "when" and I always loved sharing that dream with you, living it for the both of us. My first thought when you took your last breath was a selfish one. She's never going to see me published. I couldn't help myself at the moment, but immediately after the realization came to me that you didn't have to see it. You believed in me so much that you knew it would happen. You knew it like you knew the sun would rise. Well, you were right. It's happening. I wish so much you were here to see my contract, to hear about all the exciting news and plans for my book, to see the cover when it's revealed. I want to sit at your bedside and read my drafts to you and play the "what if" game.

I want you to be proud of me. More than anything, I want that. I want to know that you are happy with what I've done with my life this year, that you are pleased with the changes and growing up I've been doing. I want to see you smile, have you wrap me in your arms, kiss me and say "I'm so proud of you." I know you would if you were here, but I miss seeing it, miss feeling your lips pressed to my forehead.

I miss you!

The boys are growing so much. They still speak of you every day. Teeny prayed the other night that you would be able to come back to earth when Jesus came back down and could come and be with us. Birdy comes and begs to sit on my lap, even at 10, because he aches so much for you. We all miss you, Mom.

I need to tell you something I couldn't tell you then. It's okay. I'm going to be okay. I'm letting you go now, Mom. You've got a work to do on that side and I'm holding you back. I've felt it. It's okay. Go do the work Father has set for you to do. I've found some more amazing friends to add to the gem I have in Shari and they are helping to carry me through. Thanks for bringing them into my life.

Go do your work, Mom. Just, please . . . if you wouldn't mind, check in every once in a while? It's so comforting knowing you're near and helps to remind me that there's more to this world than what I can see with my eyes or hear with my ears. There are some things I can only feel with my soul and you are one of them. Give daddy and everyone a hug for me. I miss you all.

Love for all eternity,

Karen