Dear Mom, 2 years later.
Hi Mom,
It’s October 8, 2020. This day has a strange meaning in our lives since you passed away on it, 2 years ago.
That Monday night in 2018 when you had your life ending heart attack really threw us for a loop, to say the least. I often think about how you dropped me off at the Amtrak station that morning so I could head to New York for work. The irony is not lost on me that it was in fact you, who was heading off on a great adventure.
Your death was profound. To say we are “healing” from it, minimizes the fact that we are here because of your entire existence. I don’t know that anyone ever heals from the death of their mother, as much as they grow, accept, and adapt to a life without. Sara and I are working on this every day. I wish there was a way to prepare someone for the vulnerable feeling that occurs when you lose your most beloved parent, but I don’t think that is possible. You were the person who taught me how to read, how to love reading. You were the person who taught me how to navigate a world that wasn’t built for women, but could be traversed by one. You were the person that taught me you could be decent, and kind, while still being strong.
We miss you so much here on Earth these days, but I have to admit, its a bit of a shit show (sorry, I still curse). We are in the midst of a global pandemic called Covid-19 or Coronavirus. As much as we miss you, Sara and I joke that if you were here for this, you would probably be giving us headaches by trying to go to get your hair and nails done, or go to Von Maur!
On a high note, my bone marrow transplant took. It took two tries, but the second stuck. It has been magical since my body started creating red blood cells again. I can’t thank you enough for supporting us as hard as you did throughout all of my health crisis. You put your retirement life on hold so I could live. We won’t forget that. Throughout this summer I have had some moments that are so perfect, so unbelievable, after the darkness of the last three years that I shake myself and think “Am I in heaven?”. The only reason I know I am not is because you aren’t here.
But Mom, you would be so proud. Proud of Sara and her family. They live here now, in HULL! Can you believe that? She lives 13 minutes away from me driving, and we could walk there if we had to (I’m telling you 2020 has gotten weird so we all are thinking of odd situations). She is an NP with Brigham and Women’s, so she WORKS in the very institution that helped save my life. It’s pretty bad ass. Maddie is rocking school, and so sassy and beautiful, just like Sara. Alex is a runner, this kid can scoot. You would be proud.
Louden misses you. He says he can feel you in the trees in the back of our house, and sometimes he says he can feel you in the ocean waves. I don’t know if he feels that, or if he knows I like to hear it, but either way it makes me proud that he realizes we live on in some way after death. He is a good boy Mom. He’s a little anxious, and he is afraid of heart attacks and illness, but we talk it through with him and I think he will be okay. He’s smart. And so strong.
This year we bought you a brick at the Missouri Botanical Gardens. We want your people, your tribe to have a little place to go connect with you, in a place that mattered to you. You loved the way those gardens grew, and that taught me so much about you. You always had patience, were not afraid to put in the work, and admired beautiful things. I love that about you.
2 years out from your death and I don’t have a clear direction yet where my life goes without you in it. However I do know that I am learning to put your lessons into action. Your lessons of showing up, coming together, and growing something bigger than yourself. We are working on making these our mission.
What I want you to feel, if there is any way for words to jump off a page and into the energy force field, is that you are still here with us. All of your love, your lessons, your energy — are here. We are here simply because you decided to be the amazing woman and mother that you were. I am so proud to be a part of that legacy. You were a woman who grew up in a small farm town. You had an amazing career of 30+ years. You earned a masters degree. You survived the death of two husbands. You had a huge group of friends who love you. You raised us with more love than many dual parent families ever have. You showed me what being a strong woman who cares for her communities looks like. Thank you so much.
You are gone at this moment, but the lessons you have taught me will be ones I learn in practice until I join you on the other side. Take care of Jane.
We love you always.
Erin
