four years later…

Dear Mom,

It’s been four years since we surrounded your hospital bed and allowed them to turn off the machines that were keeping you here with us. You had made it very clear that you were ready to leave this earth to go on to your next adventure. I hope you felt us holding your hands before you made your journey, I was trying to send you off with as much love as possible.

While it was difficult for all of us to let you go, I sure hope you’re having a great time in your garden filled with the eternal blooms of spring. I bet with four years under your belt, that garden is really coming into its own. You always had an eye for the future when it came to your garden, so I’m sure it’s a sight to behold. I like to think that you’ve got many cats milling about, curling up with you while you take a nap in the conservatory on the monkey couch I adored so much.

There’s so much to tell you. Ben keeps fighting that insidious disease but is doing well right now. We’re getting ready to travel again for his therapy. He’s doing his best to keep up with school, is quite the little skier, and is still just as serious as when he was born. He’s such a sweet and loving boy, Mom.

As for Madeline, well, you were right about her. She’s destined to be a star on stage and/or screen! She has a beautiful singing voice – just like Aunt Sissy – we just have to work on her shyness. She’ll blossom in her confidence when she’s a bit older, just like you did. Just like I did.

I’m hanging in there, too. The chaos keeps me busy but it’s a life I’m proud to be living. For never wanting to ever have children, I have found that being a mother is what I was meant to do in this life. It’s hard to see myself as an adult when I think about you. I just see a little freckle-faced girl hiding behind your skirt. But here I am, 46 years old, and there are still times that I want your comfort. I doubt that will ever change.

I still want to pick up the phone when something good happens. Or when something bad happens. Or when my sarcasm goes into overdrive and there’s nobody else who would enjoy it like you would. I know there were times that we butted heads more than anything else, but you know it’s because I’m just like you in so many ways. Our tender hearts wounded all too easily.

I do miss you, Mom. The kids miss you, too. Especially Madeline. Her connection to you was probably the most important of her young life. Nothing will ever replace you. For all of us.

But I hope you’re not missing us at all. However, if you want to, I wouldn’t mind a message telling me what you always said: “I love you one million and twelve.”

All my love,



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