Posted on August 2, 2011


dear mom:

i thought this year’s anniversary would be different.  i admit, i didn’t cry yesterday.  or the day before.  though each and everyday for the past two weeks, i’ve felt a painful twinge right here, in my heart.  when i woke this morning without doubling over in sadness, i figured i could perhaps make it through the day without a complete and total tear fest.

my drive to the office was uneventful until  i spotted a large man on a motorcycle.  he was wearing one of those cue-ball looking helmets and had a “brutus buckeye” stuffed doll strapped to the backseat.  his license plate read “G KAT”.  and as he cut me off, as i felt my blood pressure rise, i began to chuckle.  he was wearing cowboy boots!!!  the chuckle turned to a giggle.  and in a moment, i heard myself, out loud, telling you how much you would have loved to see it.

and then the uproarious laughter quickly turned to tears.  and hyperventilating.  and an overwhelming sadness that i could no longer control.

because i miss you.

for four LONG years, all of these silly little things have been just that.  silly little things.  but these silly little things used to be the reasons i would call you ten times a day.  and now, i can’t show you or tell you or laugh with you.

and it makes me miss you so much more.

i’ve sat with my wonderful friends, listening to them tell me all about their mommy drama – arguments over attitudes, disagreements over nothingness, fights over fleeting annoyances – and i am beyond envious.  i would give anything to have you here to argue with, disagree with and fight with.

because i miss you.

i feel like i have grown up soSOso much these past four years… and without your guidance.  and i HATE IT!  i wasn’t prepared for it.  i’m still not ready for it.  and when monkey asks me if one day you’ll come back to life, i want to scream “yes” from the top of the highest mountain because i want so very badly for it to be a reality.

because i miss you.

and monkey misses you, too.  once, during a tantrum, he took a framed photo of you and pushed it off the shelf and onto the floor.  the photo popped out and when he realized what he had done, he picked it up and spent the next 20 minutes trying desperately to put you back right where you belong – straight and centered, in the small silver frame.  he still asks about you.  he notices that he has your nose.  he tells me that the two of us have the same hair.  he says he remembers that you loved him very much.  monkey also says he thinks you would really like him to be in kindergarten in the fall.  and for school, you would like me to buy him a star wars backpack.

i think he’s right.

i’ve spent the last year watching mich become a board certified massage therapist.  the stress, the elation, the success – oh how proud you would be.  and J… J, RN?!  you’d have more photos of graduations than you’d ever thought possible b/c he made us sit through two ceremonies!!  i wish you could have been here to deliver those balloons, those cookies, those cupcakes, those hugs… those congratulations to two of your babies.

because they miss you, too.

and somewhere, somehow amongst the obligations and priorities, i’ve finally decided to put first what i have always believed in.  myself. in the fall, monkey won’t be the only one carrying books, doing homework and studying.  because when it come to happiness & success, it’s my turn, now.

and when it’s time to accept those balloons, those cookies, those cupcakes and those hugs, the one baby that you believed in all these years will finally deserve all of the congratulations your words can never again say.  and i will cry.  and fall apart.  and wish you were here to tell me how proud you are.

because i will still miss you.

tonight, we celebrated you and your memory with a hibachi-style dinner at one of your most favorite restaurants.  the three of us bickered and joked, just like we always have.  but mostly, we wished you were eating lobster and fried rice, joining in on the noise.  even to a stranger, it’s painfully obvious that something is missing.  but we move on because we have to.  and we remember you because we have such amazing memories.  handfuls, pocketfuls, heart-fuls.

i love you.  today, tomorrow and every day that follows.  forever.

love, your bookworm baby,

** post title – adele, don’t you remember