***
Dear Mom,
I can't believe that you've been gone for 13 years. It feels like 5 minutes most days, with the pain and shock still right at the surface. You were gone in a flash, there was no time to prepare, to be ready, to have a satisfying 'goodbye'. But then, I doubt very much that I could have survived knowing that I was going to lose you. Shock was the only thing that kept me going.
I look at my life today, the life I have forged ahead to create, and wonder what you would think. On paper, it all looks pretty good: I have a great job, I own a house, I have a spoiled dog, and I manage it all on my own. That's success, right?
But I can also see you looking at me with worry: why no boyfriend or husband? Why didn't I have a child? Why do I work so much, and then spend the rest of my time at home, alone except for the dog? It's easy to explain, really. I can't bear any more loss. It's easier to be alone than to risk more hurt.
I have a box of notes, cards, and letters that you sent me over the years. I go through it every so often, and it brings me comfort and despair. It's like having you back for a while, and then realizing all over again that you're gone. I am grateful to have it, of course, but greedily wish that I had new cards and letters to add. I wish I had another day, just one more day, with you. Just one more opportunity to sit at the kitchen table, drinking a few cups of tea, and talk about nothing in particular. And, selfishly, to wring out of you as many affirmations that I was not a disappointment as I could get before you'd tell me, appropriately, that I needed to develop some self-confidence.
Love,
-stephanie
