Tag Archives: God

March 10, 2013

10 Mar

Hello Moother,

It’s been a few days. I had started to check in a few times but never got around to it. This past week has been wild. I was getting over a fever and some kind of bug, went to Boston for a writer’s conference, and am finally home. 

Today, I miss you so much. I wished I could have called you when I got back so I could tell about my trip. I sat in on some great discussions about writing and reading. I even had my hand at some networking. I didn’t feel like such a loser since some of my work is finally published at a relatively decent publication. 

The night before I left for Boston I had dinner with Shannon and two of my other girlfriends in Charlotte. We were talking girl talk when we got on the subject of running. The girls told me that they created a team for a race called the Sarcoma Stomp. They named the team We Love Lucy. We are running in your honor on April 20! I was so touched and felt so loved. 

I thought being away would be a distraction from how much I miss you, but instead I was reminded of you all week. At the airport, on my way to Boston, these three girls about the same age difference as Michelle, Joanna, and me were traveling with their mother. They were all laughing and having a grand ole time at the airport. Every once in a while they would have a little argument, but still they reminded me of the three of us. Even the way they all laughed was similar. I think their inappropriate volume is what started my feeling nostalgia. It was painfully sweet. 

At the conference, I was reminded of how you probably would have absolutely hated most of the people there. Many of the people at the conference spoke of themselves, rarely engaging their peers in questions. Most of them also dressed so badly. It made me glad you taught not to always be talking about myself because that is obxious. I’m also glad you taught me to care about my appearance. When I was younger, I didn’t understand what the big deal was, but as I’ve gotten older being fashionable and not looking like a slob has become increasingly important. 

I was also reminded of you at the conference when I sat in at a reading by Amy Bloom and Richard Russo. Amy Bloom read from her forth coming novel and the excerpt was about childhood. The writing was beautiful, and I thought about how it would be nice to send you the book and then we could both read it together and discuss it as we always have with books we loved. Richard Russo read an excerpt from his memoir. In the excerpt he wrote about his mother’s death and his daughter’s wedding. It was interesting and made my chest swell with pain because I could tell that his pain, though not recent like mine, had not subsided. Even as read, he was reliving the pain and he had when wrote it and experienced it. This saddened me. I keep hoping the pain will go away, as if a cut that will eventually heal. There are days when I’ve scabbed over then suddenly it’s reopened and bleeding again. 

This week I will be mentally preparing myself for the weekend. I know I should be excited to go home and see Daddy, Joanna, and Michelle but it is going to be so painful to go home and know you’re not going to be there. It’s not like you’ll come in eventually because you’re working or running errands. You won’t be back at all, and I would seriously kill to just sit down and have some coffee with you. 

I’ve been trying to process why you’ve left and what lesson God has in store for me. I can’t quite understand why you couldn’t be around for longer so you could meet your grandchildren and help me be a mother.  I can’t understand why I’ve been deprived of shopping and coffee with you. I don’t get it, and it infuriates me. 

Well, now that I’m sufficiently upset I will sign off. 

I love you,



February 23, 2013

24 Feb

Hello Moother, 

Tomorrow I’m having my annual Oscar party. I’m pretty excited. I’ve had more RSVP’s than I did last year. I know Shannon will definitely show, but we’ll see about the rest. 

I’ve been thinking about how much I miss our phone calls. It’s been really hard for me to not hear your voice everyday. I was making up my menu, and I wished you were around to help me with some ideas for the pizzas I’m going to make. 

Ma, I miss you. I miss you so much that it hurts my heart every day. Every morning. Every Afternoon. Every Evening. I know you’re “in a better place” now, as so many people have been reminding me, but I want you here. 

I was thinking about the day you died, and I started to freak out because I kept thinking about how you stopped fighting. When I arrived you weren’t all there because of the pain meds, did you feel like we were already mourning you and decided to give up? Daddy mentioned that if we could get your strength up you might be able to do more therapy. What if we hadn’t told you it was okay for you let go? Would you still be here getting stronger? Could I still talk to you on the phone? Could I still see you? 

Oh God. 

Ma, if this is the case, I need to know it’s okay. I’m worried that it’s because we too sure you were out of time. Oh God. Is that it? 

I can’t take the pain of not being able to talk to you. 

It’s so weird without around. It’s like I’m in reality, but it’s a Twilight Zone version of it. It’s awful. I know I’m lucky to have Justin, my sisters, Daddy, and my friends, but my world is not right. It’s broken.

I’ve been having panic attacks since I got back from the funeral. I’ve had one everyday for two weeks. I don’t know why I’m having them, but I am. I think part of it is the stress of getting all my work stuff taken care of, my desperate want to have a baby. It might be a fear that I’m going to get sick or worry that Michelle or Joanna might get sick. My heart beats so fast, and I can’t breathe thinking that everything is going to crumble or shatter. 

It just sucks. When people ask me how I am doing, all I can say is okay. It’s the best I can do without lying or telling the real truth that I’m not okay. I’m not great. I feel guilty smiling. I want to say that my world is not right, but it’s none of anyone’s business. 

I also can’t believe you also lived with so much pain and never let it show. How were you so strong? I feel like such a weakling. 

Still, I know have to take the days one and a time. I know that soon God will bless Justin and me with a baby or three (or four) and while I’ll still hurt, I’ll be numb from it and it won’t show through my face, and I won’t need to cry everyday. 

Just know, I miss you. 

I’ll be okay eventually. 

Talk to you soon,



February 19, 2013

19 Feb

Hello Moother,

I dreamt of you last night. It seemed to take forever to fall asleep, but I am so grateful that I did. While I dreamt and saw you, I was all too aware it was a dream. 

Joanna and Michelle were with me. We were in this tiny apartment. The apartment had this small kitchen in it. The door opened and at first I could only see the back of your head, but I knew it was you. You sat down at the table with Michelle, Joanna, and me. We all drank Nespresso. 

We kept asking you questions, but you were quiet. We understood that you had died, but you were clearly alive as you sat in front of us. You looked so beautiful, Mommy. You didn’t look anything like how I last remember seeing you. You looked the way you did before you got sick. You told us we could see you everyday from 7 to 9 a.m. in that apartment. You said that everyday, God let you be alive for two hours. 

I remember repeatedly asking you if you were alive, and all you kept saying was yes. I just couldn’t believe it. 

When I woke up, I still had a few hours before I had to get up to get ready for work. I was having a hard time breathing and Justin was worried about me. When I told him I dreamt of you, I lost it. I wanted it to be true that you were alive. It made me so sad, yet I felt this ephemeral happiness. I was excited to see you, even though I knew it was just a dream. 

At the end of the dream, when it was time for you to leave, you stood up and you were wearing this white flowing dress. Suddenly, you lost all the color in your face and you disintegrated. It was awful.

I told Michelle that I dreamt of you, and she said she also dreamt of you. Her dream was very disturbing though. She said she saw you in the casket and you were trying to get out but couldn’t because you were embalmed. It made me sad that Michelle’s dream wasn’t as hopeful as mine. She said she was afraid and found it creepy. 

Last night I wished so badly to dream of you, and you came and found me in my sleep. I’m glad I got to see you even if was only briefly. 

Thank you,