A Note to Say Hello

Just popping in to say hello, Mom. I have conversations with you in my head all the time, so I wanted to let you know how things are going.  It was our Facebook friendversary this week. 13 years! And I picked up my phone to call you, and reality hit.  It sucks all the air from my lungs…from the room…from the entire universe when I remember I won’t talk to you in this world again. I don’t think that will ever change.

Whenever my mind is quiet, I wonder about you. I wonder if you drink tea with the Fritts family and listen to jazz music. I wonder if you watch over Jonah and the girls while they are sleeping. I wonder if you sit quietly near Dad in the apartment and wish he would get out a little more to visit friends. I wonder if you wipe the tears from Amy’s face on the really tough days that still come so often. I wonder if you see how hard I am trying to find my balance in this new existence, and I wonder if you are proud of me for my efforts. I wonder if you see how we all dance around each other to try to hide the enormous void you left behind.

Jonah keeps telling us that you are having a tea party with God, and I like to envision how beautiful that must be. How does God put the clotted cream on His scones? It must be the most amazing spread of tea cakes and cucumber sandwiches. I know He is enjoying having you in His presence, and I wonder if you are finding ways to settle in and feel at home there. I hope you have the coziest robe and slippers and a little white dog on your lap.

So many people miss you here, Mama. Sometimes we can’t really speak the reality that we are living in your absence…it’s easier to share a hug or a tear. Other times we laugh and recount stories of your amazing existence. You cut a wide swath through the world, Mom, and it is wonderful to hear tales of your adventures with friends. I would listen to stories all day every day right now. I hate how you feel so far away from us. 

Some of your dear friends from Hawaii reached out this week to let you know that they were lighting incense for you and had made a lei for you from backyard flowers. It is such a touching gesture to share their affection for you. I love seeing the adoration and sweet emotions that your friends felt for you. We knew you were remarkable in every way, but it feels good to see others who were profoundly moved by your presence in their lives. 

I wish I could say that things are going a little better, but you already know that we are not doing so hot. We function the best we can, but we really have to stay in autopilot mode to keep from falling apart. Do you remember the night we talked through all the things we still needed to say to each other? And we all agreed that the only thing we would do differently was live our exact life together for another 100 years? I think about that and what an incredible gift it has been to love this family, and to be loved by this family. I never even figured out what questions to ask you about mothering, lawyering, and living until I was in my 30’s. I still have so many things I want to ask you, Mom. I would give anything for you to hug me tight, kiss my head, and tell me everything is going to be alright. 

I am not having any dreams right now, but I’m hoping that sometime soon those will return again and I will see you. I look for you in everything that I’m doing, Mama. I listen for you in music, in bird songs, in laughter, in prayer. I find myself wondering if grief is just exactly this…a never ending search for you in my moments and my days. I am trying to keep my heart wide open so I will recognize you in the sunsets and the sounds of the spring days ahead. I want to feel it in my bones that you are near us. 

Until then, I’m keeping you so close in my heart.  I hope you can feel me holding your hand and reminding you how much I loved being your daughter. I will love you for another 100 years, Mom. I promise. 

Xoxoxo

Bethy