- Today is my Momma’s birthday. There is not a day in the 5 years she has been gone from this earth that I wouldn’t want to just have a moment to talk with her, to hold her, to tell her how much I love her, and to say goodbye. Maybe that was one of the harder parts, not being able to say farewell, or too many regrets not spoken. On this, her day, I decided to put my thoughts down and lift them up to her.
2.
Dear Momma,
Today is your birthday, and I’m thinking of you. I’ve been thinking of you everyday since you left this earth, but not quite as much as I did when you first went away. When you first left me, I wanted to talk to you every day. I would forget you were gone, and I would try to call you. Even when I was able to stop picking up the phone to dial your number, I would still think it in my head. I just have to tell Momma that! I would think, and then I would remember, and my grief would be new. Even now, I still want to share my daily excitements, fears, and dreams with you, but I cannot. It hurts my heart so bad. I imagine this must be what my patients at the hospital feel when they are having a massive heart attack, because when I allow myself now to think of you and the hot tears come, I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest. The pressure of the hurt is so big, and it makes me wonder if that elephant sits there to keep the fullness of my grief from escaping and taking me over. I usually push the tears away, and make myself think of something else in those moments.
But if this letter could reach you (And that’s really what I want isn’t it?), what would I say? I think first I would apologize because I took you for granted. I couldn’t imagine life without you, so I somehow thought you’d never leave. I think of all the wasted time. I think of the decade I spent mad at you, so indignant in my childish anger, thinking my teenage and twenty-something self knew everything. Why is it that the people we love more than anything in this world, are also the people that can hurt us the most, or that we can become so angry with that we almost sever a relationship entirely. I was so mad at you Momma. I was mad at you for being sick. I knew it wasn’t your fault, but I was mad anyway. I wanted a mom who could do everything I needed from her, not one who forgot entire conversations we had. I didn’t want you falling down, literally, and needing help. I wanted you to help me! I wanted you to be strong, and when you couldn’t, it made me mad. I couldn’t understand why you were so sad, or why your past haunted you, or you woke up crying from the nightmares. I wanted you to hold me when I was scared, not vice versa. The thing is, you did hold me. When I was scared, you calmed my fears. When I was tired, you lifted me up. When I needed you, you came alive. But I couldn’t see it then. I was blinded by my own selfishness. I remember when I grew up and decided to stop wanting you to be someone else. I remember flying home to see you and being so excited. I’m glad I reconciled you in my heart, but hate it took so long. Even when you died, I was angry. Oh, I was devastated overall, sinking in the mire of my own sorrow, but I was also angry. I was angry that you left. You didn’t leave me purposely, but I almost felt like you did. I knew you lived most days feeling like you weren’t good enough for us, and sometimes believing we would be better without you. Instead of convincing you otherwise, I would roll my eyes. When you left, I was mad because I thought maybe you just gave up the fight, maybe you were tired, and just quit. I’m sorry Momma. I’m sorry for all the time I wasted being angry instead of just loving you for you. I wish I could take all that time I spent being angry and somehow fashion it into a capsule of minutes, hours, or even days that I could spend with you now.
When I had my first child it somehow was a salve that seemed to lessen the pain I felt over your loss. At first it was, but then I looked at my girl, and if I thought of you, I was more sad than before. I knew your desire to be a grandmother. You had wanted a grandchild, but never hounded me for one, even as I went past thirty without showing you that dream baby. When I held my girl, I wished that you could hold her too. I know you would want to watch her, and have her spend the night. You always thought you could do more than you really could in your sickness, and I am honestly thankful that I didn’t have to tell you she couldn’t stay. I show her your picture, and I take solace in knowing you’ll meet my children one day. I can already tell they are brilliant just like you. As the three year old develops a sense of humor, I will admit my concern. If she ends up with our warped sense of humor, I’m sure it will get her in trouble. I’ll probably be forced to homeschool for the sake of teachers everywhere.
After you left I dealt with my anger at you. I realized it wasn’t your fault. Then I had to deal with my anger at myself. That was a little harder. I was so frustrated at how I underappreciated every moment we had instead of treasuring them for the gems they were. Interestingly enough, the one I was never angry with was God. I knew He had taken you for your own good. I knew so many who missed you here, but realized our Heavenly Father did right by you. He finally gave you rest. He took away your physical pain and your emotional pain. He healed you of your sadness and showed you the beauty that you are, but that you could never fully realize while on this earth. He took away your tears, the ones that I could never wipe away completely. I find my comfort knowing you are finally at peace, full of joy, without the sadness or shame that shackled you down while you were among us.
I miss you though Mommy. I would give so much to just have one more hug, one more minute to tell you how wonderful I think you did. Sometimes I dream of you, and perhaps that’s God giving me my wish for the moment, until we can be reunited once again. Until we do meet again, I pray this letter finds you. I pray you’ll now know just how much you were loved, and how much you are missed.
I will end this with a thank you. Thank you that I never wondered if I was loved by you. I always knew. Thank you for showing me how to love my own daughters with every fiber of my being. You did good. I promise. See you soon.
Love,
Your Oldest Daughter, Brie
- Happy Birthday in Heaven to my beautiful Momma! Never take for granted the relationships you have, for they do pass in time. Make every moment count, embracing love and rejecting anger. I have forgiven myself, but I honestly do have regret. I know you’re not supposed to regret, but I do…
That is all