A Mother’s Day Letter, Again.

“Life began with waking up and loving my Mother’s face.” – George Eliot

Dearest Mom,

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, and I still can’t help but think of what a big deal holidays were to you.  This day would have never been about you though.  You would have somehow made YOUR special day more about me than it ever was about you.  I went shopping alone last night and your absence was painfully with me.  I walked around the mall in a daze trying to focus, but all I could think about was what you would have been saying to me.  It was so weird.  I didn’t cry, but I just felt nauseous.  Some days I miss you so much Mom; I am inconsolable, but then there are other days when I wonder how in the world I could miss you when you’ve never even really left me at all.  Not even death can break that bond we share.

We cleaned a lot in “Gigi’s Garden” last week.  Charlotte and Will washed the furniture, and I pulled weeds.  The breeze was perfect.  The Van Morrison radio station played every perfect song imaginable.  It was such a beautiful night; it practically took my breath away.  It was lovely, simple, and elegant all at the same time.  It reminded me of you, and I was so happy.

I find myself totally understanding you so much now, Mom.  The very things I used to get so mad at with you, I do them too!  Life makes us kind of crazy.  I wish I would have excused your behaviors I didn’t always agree with, more. Life takes its toll on us, and I am so sorry I didn’t always make life easier for you.  I try to replace all of the “didn’ts” and “couldn’ts” and “should haves” with thoughts of all the things we did get to do together, and well, that’s a lot.

A lot of my sadness used to come from feeling sad for you and the fact that you had to suffer so many days alone while we were at work, but honestly, my guess is that Heaven kicks some serious butt and you aren’t thinking twice about cancer or this place. That is a nice relief when I think about it that way.

Three years, Mom.  Three long, short, exhilarating, devastating, empty, blurry, memorable years without you.  How in the world did I get here?  I can’t really explain where I am with that.  Some days I talk about you like those memories just happened yesterday, and other days I feel like I dreamed you up.  It’s all so complicated.  I don’t even recognize myself in the words I wrote as I read through old posts and caringbridge entries.  I went through that?  How did I get through that?  I want to hug that girl.  I want to cut her some serious slack.  I am so much stronger now; I can’t even begin to tell you.  I am channeling my Judy King strength, and it feels so good.  A little scary sometimes, but good.

You know me.  I still have questions.  I still doubt things, and I think the only things I’ve really come to terms with are:

  • God is sovereign, and I am choosing to trust Him. It’s a choice, Mom, and some days I don’t feeeeeel like choosing trust, but I do.
  • My husband needs a wife and my children need a mother who is seeking God and is LIVING (not just surviving) a life that will leave a legacy as strong as you left me. Now THAT is waaaaay harder than it sounds.  How did you make it look so easy?

And those random times I go from laughing to an absolute monumental meltdown; those early mornings when I just can’t sleep anymore and still recall so vividly the way you smelled and your warmth when you hugged me; the way you would call and say “hi Amy Lou”; those days I just have absolutely no idea which road is best for me and would give anything to hear your advice…. Those moments aren’t a sign of weakness; I am choosing to believe that now. Instead, those moments are a very clear and direct reflection of the utterly amazing woman you were and just how IMPOSSIBLE it’s going to be to ever, ever stop missing you.

Happy Mother’s Day in heaven, Mom.  I love you, and I have never been more proud than I am today that I am your daughter.

Your Amy Lou