Dear Mom,
I thought about you on my drive home tonight. They are
predicting storms all weekend and I drove through one of them tonight. I
remember growing up how storms never fazed you. You didn’t care if there was
lightning, thunder, or tornado sirens going off. You would just sit there as I gathered up all
the animals and all my favorite belongings (like my NSync cd and disturbing
collection of furbies). I never understood why you didn’t seem to care. You’d
just keep reading or writing or balancing the checkbook. Before you died, I
dreamt of a tornado hitting our house, you refusing to come downstairs and
continuing to do the dishes. I’ve had that dream since you died too.
Mom. I remember how sunny it was the day you died. Or was that the day before? Or the day
after? It all runs together. But I remember standing in the driveway
thinking, this is not how I pictured this. Shouldn’t
it be pouring rain? Shouldn’t the world be flooding with tears? Why does this
feel like I’m going to go to sleep tonight and actually wake up tomorrow? How
is that kid still riding down the street on his bicycle? How are phones still
ringing? Wouldn’t it make sense that when this Earth loses someone as
important as you, the world just stops?
But I guess I was wrong about that. I learned that lesson
the day you died. I learned it without you. I’ve had to learn a lot of things
without you. I had to learn how to pluck my eyebrows and curl my hair. I still
pretty much suck at both of them, but I can do it. I had to learn how to talk to guys without
sounding like a complete whacko. I had to learn to not be a complete whacko. I
had to learn how to interview for a job, write a professional e-mail, and dress
for success. Although, based on the
things you dressed me in during your lifetime—that last one might be for the
best.
I’ve stumbled through all these lessons because I have great
support. Kudos for having Rikki and I 17 years apart. Who knew we’d end up
actually liking each other. I can hear
you in her voice and see you in her strength. I catch myself wondering what it
would be like to have you both in the same room again. I think that every time
I see Aunt Vickie too. It’s the way she tilts her head when she’s listening and
that smile.
I’ve been dealing with a lot of things lately. They are life
things that people just have to face as they get older, childhood becomes a
thing of the past, and we move forward. I think I’m handling things okay, but
it sure would be nice if you could be here. I’m afraid I’ll scare Eric off by
word-vomiting everything that young women usually say to their mothers. I’m
sure he’s tired of hearing about my cat, the money I saved by buying off the clearance
rack, and laundry. But seriously, I put a shirt in the dryer today that needed
to be hang dried and it was super upsetting.
Eric has asked me before if you two would have gotten along.
Frankly, you would have loved him. I’m fully confident that you would be one of
those people that would break through to the best part of him in no time at
all. He is so funny, witty, and smart. I wish you could see him smile when he’s
really tickled about something. It’s the sort of thing kids write home to mom
about. See what I did there? Write to mom
about…I also know that you would have irritated the crap out of him by
calling him unnecessarily and checking in with him regularly. I think that
thought delights me the most, but only because it’s sweet in your own way.
I sometimes wonder if you knew your time on Earth was short.
Can God communicate that in some way? Is that why every feeling you had seemed
so passionate? Happiness, sadness, anger, and love. All of them seemed so
intense for you. Is that why you never seemed fazed by impending doom? Perhaps,
to you, the thought of sitting through a tornado seemed no more risky than
walking out the front door in the morning. Maybe you knew the storm would pass.
When you told me you were dying, you held my hand, and
through tears told me, “I’ll always be in your heart.”
I wanted you to know
that’s true. You must have known it was when you told me. I wanted you to know
I’m doing just fine. I’m making it through this crazy life. And thanks to other
great moms and a lot of prayer, I’m learning the things I need to. There are
days I wish you were here in person. Days I wish you could hug me and tell me
everything is going to be alright. There are still days I wonder why the world
didn’t just stop the day you left us.
The sun will come out tomorrow (or the next day). The phone
will ring (likely before I want to wake up). I’ll ride my bike (I’m training
for a triathlon , ya know). Life on this Earth will continue. But I’m happy to
say that I know, you’ll always be in my heart.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Love,
Katie
Katie
Wow, just wow!
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