Tag Archives: sadness

March 22, 2013

23 Mar

Hello Moother,

I have a guilty admission to make today. The past few days I have been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to feel like I miss you. I’ve thought about you, but I haven’t really cried or anything like that. Well, until today. I feel terrible about it. 

I also have been in a depressed mood all day and when Justin asked me what was wrong, I just didn’t want to tell him. He was mad that I didn’t want to talk about it, but I’m not sure what the point of that would be. 

These past few weeks I’ve been feeling very blah. I have not been a pleasure to be around. I’ve dreaded going to work. It’s not good. I’m sure if I went to a therapist, I’d be told I’m going through a depression. I feel the way I did when I was in college and depressed. I would love to just sleep through the days and wake up and it be summer. 

Oh well. I’ll go over it like I did the first time. 

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 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