Today will be four years since my mom died. I still catch myself on occasion having thoughts along the lines of   “I have to tell mom this.” I hate those moments. In that brief  space of time, no longer than a heartbeat she is very alive to me. It’s as if a part of my brain forgets that she is gone. 

My mom and I were close. She had a special relationship with each of her three children. Being the eldest meant I knew her the longest and it gave our relationship a specific dynamic. My memories of her are still vivid. Time hasn’t had a chance to wash them away and blur them, not yet at least. I have no regrets aside from the fact that I wish she where still here. There are no unresolved conversations or arguments that were left lingering. She died peacefully in her sleep.

So why write this letter?

One afternoon I was sitting with my youngest daughter who will be four this year. She was born two months after my mom passed away and two days after my mom’s birthday. My mom never got to meet the grandchild that was most like her. I’m sure they would have hit it off and become the best of friends.

So as i sat there thinking that afternoon looking at my daughter, Z. I had a very specific thought: One day I wont be around to see her anymore. It wasn’t a sad thought, and it arrived mostly on its own without any provocation. It made me realize, that as I approach fifty (yes fifty) that my time on this earth is limited. No, I’m not having an existential crisis, this is just what is so.

So what would I tell her if I could?

First of all thank you. Thank you for having me and bringing me into this world. At great cost to yourself, you chose to embark on this adventure called parenthood. Only now that I have children of my own can I truly understand the fierce intensity of your love. Only now can I see how you saw and realize that a parent has a love blindness for their children.

Now I can understand what you meant when you said you sacrificed for us. After many sleepless nights of my own, I can understand why you roamed in our room at night making sure our bed sheets covered us and that we were okay and breathing.

I understand all the trips to the parks even when you couldn’t play with us, but you watched us play, the same way I watch my little ones play-because play is important.

I understand your strength. You were always a rock to me, larger than life. You were a force of nature, fearsome and indomitable, because you had to be. I now get it and how we must be strong for our children because we are the anchor in their lives, the shelter in the storms. We must be unfailing and unwavering.

I understand the hugs and kisses even when I grew older and called them gross. I never refused them. Even when the roles reversed and it was me kissing you on your forehead because I now towered over you. I remember your words that I will never be too old for a kiss from you. I now share them with my own saying the same words and expressing the same sentiment. For now I kiss them on them forehead knowing one day it will be them kissing my forehead.

I remember your weakness and your faith when you grew ill and how you still smiled and made those horrible jokes and we would laugh, really laugh until eyes teared and breath was short. I remember that a sense of humor is important especially when I’m with my little ones and that laughter is restorative and brings joy.

I remember our one true argument and how I raised my voice at you and how it broke my heart. I remember how angry I was, not at you but at myself. I remember you approaching me and saying you still loved me and how we hugged and promised not to argue ever again, we never did because you left a few days after. You taught me that compassion is more important than being right. That forgiveness is essential in a life that is so short.

You tempered me into the person I am today. Your words and example showed me what I needed even when I was too young to understand. I understand some of that now.

Thank you mom. I love and miss you.