In January of this year, I lost my mom, Rachel, to her battle with colon cancer. Since I don't have her here to talk to, I thought I'd write a letter to her. If you've lost your Mom, I hope it helps. If you still have her, I hope it makes you appreciate her more.
These past few month, God barely five, have been up and down for me. It's been easier and harder than I ever thought this would be.
I've been angry at you for leaving. I know it's selfish, but it's true. I hate that you sacrificed your health and well-being to make sure I had mine. I'd gladly sacrifice a few years off my life to have you back. But I'll be honest, we frustrated the hell out of each other while you were alive. Why should it be any different now?
There have been moments that I forget you're gone. Few and far between, thankfully, because they make it even harder to go on when they're over. It seems so outlandish that you're not a physical part of my life anymore.
There are so many things that I want to show and tell you. I want to believe you'd be proud of me. I know you'd be proud of Matt. :) I think you always bragged more about him, anyway.
The hardest part of all has been that life goes on, and I'm healing. I'm getting better everyday, and part of me feels like that's a betrayal. You were such a good mom and woman (although not the saint people say, at least once I made you curse) that I feel I should be in sackcloth and ashes for the rest of my life.
I'm so glad that I was old enough to appreciate you as a woman and not just a mom. I will cherish our shopping excursions to Hobby Lobby and Michael's. Even though you thought you weren't a good cook, I'm glad you let me have your boiled can pie and poor man's lasagna recipes. I know you said you were starting to loose patience with little kids. but I'm still amazed how sweet you could be to the little terrors.
I love you and I will remember you every time I crochet, watch It's a Wonderful Life, read a Lillian Jackson Braun (or Daphne Du Maurier or Victoria Holt) novel, and every time I try to smile and hold my tongue.
I'll try to remember you honestly and not turn you into something you weren't. I'll keep making jokes about your chemo hair and the fact you wouldn't say "pimple."
I'll try to live up to the example of wife, mom, and woman that you gave me.
I love you now and always.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.