A Letter

Dear Mom,

It’s been six months and eleven days since I have seen you.  I think this is the longest we have gone without seeing each other.  So many things have happened and yet some things haven’t changed a bit.

Last week, I cooked dinner every night.  I made chicken enchiladas, taco soup, chicken pot pie, and tilapia.  You would have been shocked.  Every Saturday morning, I sit at the computer and google dinner ideas, trying to come up with new things to make that I can’t mess up.  I like using the crock pot because then dinner is almost ready by the time everyone gets home and I’m not trying to chop things with Macy and Selah running around.

The girls are good.  Macy is reading a few words – and just the other day wrote a perfect “G” on the board you bought her.  You knew she had mastered writing “Macy”, so apparently she’s moving on to “George”.  She surprises me every day with what she remembers.  She talks about you all the time – showing me your picture and telling me that she misses you.  Just the other day in the car, she started crying and asking when you were coming back.  It is a conversation we have had many times, but it does not get any easier.

Selah is busy, busy, busy.  She runs after Macy and tries to play whatever she is playing.  She loves to read.  She pulls out books and backs into my lap, ready to snuggle up and read.  Her hair is so long now and I try to put it up in a ponytail every morning.  This lasts about five minutes before she pulls it out.  She loves Dad.  Her face lights up when he enters the room.

I miss you.  I miss you terribly.  I miss having that person in my life who I could ask to do anything and knew she wouldn’t mind.  I miss talking to you every day – about the girls, about our friends, about nothing at all.

I haven’t changed the house at all.  I know you would have been working on another project by now, but I don’t know what you wanted to do next.  We cleaned out some of your things.  We did it right after you were gone, because I think we were so numb then that we could somewhat handle it.  Now the things that are still around – your purse, your jewelry, your handwritten notes – I can hardly bear looking at them, let alone thinking about moving them somewhere else.  I made the mistake of opening a box in your closet labeled “Amy” containing all the Mother’s Day cards and other notes I had given you over the years.  I cried for a minute and then put it away.  Someday I’ll be able to look through it.

Grief is a funny thing.  It’s a bit like a roller coaster, with highs and lows when you least expect them.  I think about you when you lost your father – and then your mother right after – and I feel terrible that I wasn’t more understanding back then.  How lost you must have felt, how sad.  It’s difficult to lose your parents – to lose that connection to your past.  Your mother is the one who knows everything: what kind of foods you like, how many wedding dresses you tried on before you chose the right one, the stories of your children’s births.  She’s the one you call when you can’t get a stain out, when you don’t know how to cook something, when you can’t remember someone’s birthday.  Since you’ve been gone, there has been a huge hole in my heart.  I don’t suppose that it will ever get smaller, and that I will have to learn how to live with it.

I know that one day we will meet again in that forever place.  For that, I praise Him every day.  Until then, I will think of you.  I will talk of you to my girls so that they will feel as though they’ve known you forever.  I will remember you every single day.

I love you.

Love,

Amy

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8 thoughts on “A Letter

  1. Amy, I can really see what it is like for you to grieve through your writing. It is honest and therefore beautiful. She must have been a wonderful woman and a comfort for many.

  2. Beautiful. Thanks for letting us in to your heart. It was evident that she loved you so very, very much. Miss you all…

  3. This made me cry. I can’t imagine your pain. Thank the Lord for little children to lighten the gloomy times.

  4. I was thinking about your mom the other day. Sundays still aren’t the same, I miss her very much. Thank you for writing your beautiful memories of her!

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