Tag Archives: mother

May 18, 2013

18 May

Hello Moother,

These past few weeks you have been on my mind. I know it’s because of the baby, but nevertheless every time I think of you, it brings tears to my eyes. 

Every minute of every day, I just wish I could talk to you. 

Mommy, I miss you. It doesn’t seem fair that you’re not here. 

All I want to do is whine like a little kid that life isn’t fair and why isn’t life fair. Wah. Wah. Wah. 

Anyway, I miss you. I want you to meet this little kid. I wish I could talk to you about how ugly I feel and how I’m worried I’m going to be the grossest pregnant woman alive. 

I want to know what you went through. 

That is all.

I love you.



April 2, 2013

2 Apr

Hello Moother,

Well, Easter has come and gone. It was my first holiday without you. I wept over the potatoes as I sliced them. I just remembered how much you loved Easter. It is still my favorite holiday. I love Easter so much because it’s about new beginnings and reward for sacrifice. It’s also about eternal life which is comforting given how much I miss you. It’s like I know I have to be good because it means I will get to see you again. 

This Easter, despite being painful, was also surprising. On Thursday night, Justin told me he wanted to go to mass with me. I almost fell off of the couch. I was so happy. He doesn’t enjoy church, and I know it was a very big sacrifice for him. I felt so very loved because of this gesture. 

The mass, of course, was entirely too long. It ran almost 2 hours. I felt so bad for the people, like Justin, who were there for family or in an attempt to rekindle with the church. Long masses like that just keep people away. 

Still, the homily was very good and even Justin said he enjoyed it. It was nice bonding moment for us. You would have been very proud of him. 

Anyway, I keep hoping that your death is this really long dream that will eventually come to an end. I know it’s been two months, but I just can’t believe it. 

You haven’t visited me in my dreams since the week you died. Please come see me. I want to chat with you. 

I love you,


February 19, 2013 (2.0)

19 Feb

Hello Moother,

I said the rosary for the first time on my own in a long time. I’m doing the rosary for lent this year. My goal is to do it every other day until Easter. As I was saying it, I remembered how whenever we would go on trips to the Gardens or Miami, we would say the rosary once we got on the highway. We did it the day we found my wedding dress, the day we booked most of the vendors for the wedding, and so many other times. I used to hate it, but today as I said it, I could feel your presence, and it was comforting.

Today’s mysteries were the the sorrowful ones which seemed appropriate as that is how I feel most days. I realized as I was praying that I’d never be able to shop with you, or pray with you, or drink Nespresso with you, but I reflected as best I could on each mystery and I think it helped quiet my pain.

I’m glad you insisted on us saying the rosary, because now I feel like I can say it and call on you.

I spoke with Michelle after I wrote to you, and she made a good point. She said you’d come talk to us when you’re ready. I’ll tell you more about how I have envisioned your past week tomorrow.

Love you,


February 17, 2013

17 Feb

Hello Moother,

Today is my 29th birthday. It’s the first birthday that I’m not receiving a phone call, card, or enjoying some homemade cake you’ve made. It’s also been ten days since I’ve looked into your face and spoken to you. Eleven days ago I was sitting by your bedside crying, processing that I had to say goodbye to you and you were saying, “I don’t know what to tell you.” You also asked me to begin making grand-babies for you and daddy. No pressure, or anything. 

Since, it’s been a horrible ten days. It’s weird not being able to call you on a whim. When I go to sleep, I desperately hope to get a visit from you, but it hasn’t happened. I know you’re around because everywhere I look, I’m reminded of you. I keep hoping that you’ll appear, or call, or email, anything to indicate you’re still here. 

Last night, I barely slept thinking about how today would be my first motherless birthday. Even though birthdays have never been a big deal in our family, birthdays are the day that ground you to your mother. It’s the first day of my life that commemorates my not being attached to you. It’s the day we were separated from each other. Still, we were at least on Earth together. That’s no longer the case. 

I found a voicemail from you the other day. You were singing me “Happy Birthday.” I listened to it first thing this morning, and for a brief moment, it made me feel so happy, but then I realized that the feeling was fleeting. I promise not to become obsessive and listen to it over and over again, like I did with Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”

This birthday won’t ever be a favorite of mine. It will always be the first birthday that I had celebrate without my moother, just like the birthdays of the future. It will go down as the worst, followed by my 23rd birthday when my phone didn’t ring because the settings were off, and I thought everyone forgot about me. 

After I listened to that voicemail, I remembered one of my favorite birthday memories. Justin and I had been dating for about a year, and we were at the house on a Sunday. You had baked a cake in the shape of heart because you said I was your valentine. Before you brought it out, you said, “The cake is a bit big.” It was, in fact, the biggest cake I’d ever seen. It was so big you could barely carry it. Justin said he wondered how you got it to fit in the oven. I remember laughing so hard because it was so ridiculous. We all laughed because there were six of us sitting at the table staring at this huge cake with no hope of eating even an eighth of it. 


I love you,

Your Number One