Baby Girl,
Every day things have gained the power to completely disarm me.
We go to the movies and I sob through the entire thing.
It used to be our thing, what you and I did together. I know... it doesn't seem so special - but to a mom whose teenage daughters life is in complete turmoil it is unbelievably special.
To a mom who can't communicate with her daughter without constant misunderstandings... having something special that always feels good... that thing becomes sacred.
I miss having you tease me when I tear up.
I miss giggling with you about how good something is going to be.
I miss making plans with you.
I miss sitting next to you and talking.
I miss sitting next to you and not talking.
You are supposed to be here with me. You are supposed to be planning your future. You are supposed to be driving me crazy.
Someday, when we're both old, you're supposed to take care of me. Agonizing over whether you can bring me home to live with you.
Someday you're supposed to bury me.
This is not the way our lives were supposed to go. This is a mistake.
Please come home. We are waiting.
Love, Mommy
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
6 months
Baby Girl,
It's been six months since we lost you. Technically, at this time six months ago your daddy and grandpa were saying goodbye to you for what would be the last time. You were laughing and joking with them and everything seemed perfect.
I was angry when I got home and realized that you had blown off your AA meeting. I was angry a few hours later when you missed curfew. You were already gone by then, and I was thinking about how irresponsible you were being by not answering your phone.
I was angry when I heard the door open at about 11:00. I was angry because you were late. When I walked into the living room and saw this stranger I knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't comprehend. When she told me you were gone I had to ask her to repeat herself over and over again. And then I started screaming. I woke your brother and sister. I can still see their confused faces standing in the hallway as I tried to swallow my screams.
These memories haunt me. I can't get around it. I don't feel better as time passes, the horror isn't fading. But there are other things I remember, too. Moments I wouldn't trade for anything. The moments that not only shaped you, but shaped me as well.
I am grateful for the first time I heard your heartbeat, for the first time I held you in my arms. With your birth I was reborn, into a (very) young adult - into a mother. I crossed into my future, into our lives. I never regretted a moment, I never mourned my "normal" youth. I had you. I didn't need anything else.
I am grateful for our years together, just you and me. I remember how overjoyed I was every day when I finished my classes and I would come pick you up from daycare. Your presence in my life made all of the studying and struggling worthwhile. You took care of me as much as I took care of you - from cuddling with me through my migraines to simply being present and carefree.
My memories of you are a treasure, I spend so much time in them these days. I am grateful for every one of them. You made me laugh, you gave me a reason to be strong, you made my life worthwhile. I'm still angry that you're gone, I would be lying if I tried to say otherwise, but it doesn't stop me from being grateful for every moment of your life.
I love you, Baby Girl. I continue to try to learn from both of our mistakes so that I can be a better mom, wife, friend - a better person in every aspect. I try to remember to be grateful and gracious even when my heart feels like it can't bear it any more and my instinct is to lash out at the world.
It's been especially hard recently with everyone preparing for the holidays. I'm struggling to get into the mood when all I want to do is hide from their good cheer. Today - the day that marks the sixth month since your death - was especially frustrating and sad. I am grateful that your auntie knew, once again, what I needed and brought me to see you. That my friends sent me special notes, so that I knew not only that they remembered me, but that they remembered you.
These are strange things to be grateful for, because they were born from tragedy, but without these things I don't think I would make it. And so, I want to say that I am grateful for our family, for our friends, and for the strength that they lend me on a daily basis.
You are so loved, even in death. We are not whole without you, but we are grateful for every moment we had with you.
Good night, Baby. Happy Thanksgiving. As always, I hope that you are at peace and somewhere beautiful, with lots of singing.
Love,
Mommy
It's been six months since we lost you. Technically, at this time six months ago your daddy and grandpa were saying goodbye to you for what would be the last time. You were laughing and joking with them and everything seemed perfect.
I was angry when I got home and realized that you had blown off your AA meeting. I was angry a few hours later when you missed curfew. You were already gone by then, and I was thinking about how irresponsible you were being by not answering your phone.
I was angry when I heard the door open at about 11:00. I was angry because you were late. When I walked into the living room and saw this stranger I knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't comprehend. When she told me you were gone I had to ask her to repeat herself over and over again. And then I started screaming. I woke your brother and sister. I can still see their confused faces standing in the hallway as I tried to swallow my screams.
These memories haunt me. I can't get around it. I don't feel better as time passes, the horror isn't fading. But there are other things I remember, too. Moments I wouldn't trade for anything. The moments that not only shaped you, but shaped me as well.
I am grateful for the first time I heard your heartbeat, for the first time I held you in my arms. With your birth I was reborn, into a (very) young adult - into a mother. I crossed into my future, into our lives. I never regretted a moment, I never mourned my "normal" youth. I had you. I didn't need anything else.
I am grateful for our years together, just you and me. I remember how overjoyed I was every day when I finished my classes and I would come pick you up from daycare. Your presence in my life made all of the studying and struggling worthwhile. You took care of me as much as I took care of you - from cuddling with me through my migraines to simply being present and carefree.
My memories of you are a treasure, I spend so much time in them these days. I am grateful for every one of them. You made me laugh, you gave me a reason to be strong, you made my life worthwhile. I'm still angry that you're gone, I would be lying if I tried to say otherwise, but it doesn't stop me from being grateful for every moment of your life.
I love you, Baby Girl. I continue to try to learn from both of our mistakes so that I can be a better mom, wife, friend - a better person in every aspect. I try to remember to be grateful and gracious even when my heart feels like it can't bear it any more and my instinct is to lash out at the world.
It's been especially hard recently with everyone preparing for the holidays. I'm struggling to get into the mood when all I want to do is hide from their good cheer. Today - the day that marks the sixth month since your death - was especially frustrating and sad. I am grateful that your auntie knew, once again, what I needed and brought me to see you. That my friends sent me special notes, so that I knew not only that they remembered me, but that they remembered you.
These are strange things to be grateful for, because they were born from tragedy, but without these things I don't think I would make it. And so, I want to say that I am grateful for our family, for our friends, and for the strength that they lend me on a daily basis.
You are so loved, even in death. We are not whole without you, but we are grateful for every moment we had with you.
Good night, Baby. Happy Thanksgiving. As always, I hope that you are at peace and somewhere beautiful, with lots of singing.
Love,
Mommy
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