It's been 10 years since you left us. I can't really begin
to start with how mind-blowing this fact is. I miss you all day, every day;
some days it's so much I feel like I can't even breathe. But somehow, I do. I
have. I will continue. A decade. How is it, that a decade can seem like an eternity, yet seem like just yesterday? I've never bothered to try to make any sense of any of
this, because let's face it, that would just be a huge waste of time. In fact,
if I'm being honest, I've tried to just pretend like it never happened at all.
In the end, the only person I was fooling was myself. I've so desperately tried
to have a "normal" life the last10 years, but it is pretty evident
that nothing will ever be normal for me. I am feeling so lost and so stuck in
life lately, and I know the reason why. My life was so dramatically altered and shifted off course
on that dreadful day in August. You were my best friend, my everything. I hated
being separated from you for more than a day. The day you left me for good was
the day I died and became someone else. I’ve done my best to do well for myself
and for sister, and I think I’ve done a
pretty good job so far, but I am so terrified about the future. There are so many ‘normal’ life progressions
for people that are so foreign to me, and I don’t even have you here to talk
about them with. For instance; will I ever get married? I’m 27 years old and I’ve never even
dated a man whom I’ve been able to tell out loud, “my mom died when I was 17.”
Will I ever be able to do that? And If I do, who is going to help me shop for
wedding gowns, or give me advice on how to make a marriage work? I can’t even begin to imagine standing in a
bridal shop without you there, or walking down the aisle without you there
beside me, telling me how pretty I look in my gown, and assuring me that I will
be a good wife. It kills me that I will never get to bring a man home to meet my wonderful and beautiful mom. I am so thankful that I had the BEST example of a loving
marriage that you and Dad showed us. But who is going to tell me what things
are really like behind closed doors, and hashing out your differences on the everyday
stuff from balancing finances, to picking out paint colors…. And worse, the
idea of having kids. I can’t even begin to imagine going through a pregnancy
and birth without you there holding my hand. If I ever do have kids, who’s
going to come and stay with me for a month and show me what to do? How will I
ever know the things to do and say to be a good mom? I know that you were the
best at being a mom, but let’s face it; back then I wasn’t exactly taking notes. The thought of having children who will never know
their grandmother, and just how extraordinary you were, breaks my heart.
I’ve had this ever-growing intense jealousy when I look at
my friends and other women my age, who have such wonderful relationships with
their mothers. They go shopping together, out to lunches together, and talk
about life. They are at the age when
they finally get to become best friends with their moms. I know how lucky I am
that we already had that relationship ahead of the curve of time, but it still
doesn’t soften the pain that I feel when it is everywhere around me. Aside from
my sister, I am the only girl I know without a mother. It’s excruciatingly lonely
not having you to talk to every day, and always being so aware of the missing
piece in my life. Not to mention, it’s exhausting, having to put on a good face
every day, showing the world that I’m okay, proving that just because bad
things happen to good people, it does NOT give anyone an excuse to be an
asshole. And trying to pretend that I
don’t need anything from anybody; because I really don’t. Just you.
My biggest fear in life is that I am going to end up alone
and bitter. The past 10 years were relatively easy to get through….I always had
something major in life to distract me: finishing high school, college, finding
a job, moving, moving, and moving, running a marathon, and moving again…. But
now that I’ve somewhat plateaued and the dust is settling, I find myself
becoming closed off and putting up walls. I don’t like it when people get too
close to me. I don’t know why. I think it’s because no matter what people say,
it’s uncomfortable to talk with “the girl who’s mom died”. It’s uncomfortable
for people when I cry in front of them, and I’ve never been very good dealing
with making people uncomfortable. I don’t like to subject myself to that kind
of vulnerability, and most of all, I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me. Boyfriends are a whole
other topic. How do I ever explain that pain of the hole in my heart? And that
sometimes I just cry out of the blue for really no reason at all? That really
freaks them out.
I see you everywhere. I see you in the stranger’s faces
walking down the street. I see you in airports, I see you in the Cotty Airspun
Powder at the drugstore and the little red Maybeline eyeliner pen that you used
to wear that I keep in my makeup bag.
Everytime I see tulips, and especially when a ladybug lands on me, I
know it’s you. Sometimes I even smell you. I don’t even know the scent, I just
know it’s you. I desperately wish I could say that I see you when I look in the
mirror, but I don’t. I see you mostly when I look at my sister.
Everyone always used to say that I looked so much like you, but really, it’s
almost scary how much Laurie is the spittingimage of your face. I look at her
and catch my breath sometimes. And it kills me how little that precious girl
knows of her look-alike. She never had the time that I got with you. Yet it’s
strange how much of you she has. No one knows me like my sister. No one can
calm the way she can. It’s so comforting to know how much of you is passed on
through her. 
I love you, Momma. May you rest in peace, and just like they
prayer you used to say
with us every single night: “May the angels guard you and keep you.”
with us every single night: “May the angels guard you and keep you.”
