You were always real big on thank you notes, so I’m going to give it my best for you. Thank you for the time you gave me all these years of my life. I never really thought about how precious of a gift that was until it finally ran out. Even now the only thing I want is to hug you one more time and tell you I love you.
I’m sorry about all the things you’re going to miss out on in mine and Laura’s lives. I’m sorry you won’t see us get married or sing at our weddings. I’m sorry you won’t get to see your grandchildren, especially since you would have made the best grandmother in the world. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see me graduate college. That one hurts the most, I think, since you were the one that really got me through it. Come to think of it, you got me through a lot over the years. No matter how silly or small the problem was, you would drop everything to make sure it was given the attention it deserved. I suppose I must get that attitude from you, then.
This thank you note is starting to look like an apology letter, so I’ll try to get back on track.
Thank you for being the person I could talk to when I needed it. Thank you for all the advice you’ve ever given me, solicited or not. Thank you for showing me that being goofy isn’t a bad thing. Thank you for teaching me how to solve my own problems. Thank you for putting up with me when I was a little crybaby, as well as when I grew up to be too stubborn to admit something was wrong. Thank you for teaching me that mistakes aren’t worth dwelling over, and that the only thing that matters is how you react to them. Thank you for keeping Dad off my back; you know how he gets sometimes.
Laura says it feels like you died only yesterday. She also says it feels like you died twenty years ago. She’s right. I’m still having bad days, but there are a lot of good days in between.
I want you to know, though, that it’s not your fault. I know that making everybody feel this way would have just torn you up, and that you’d apologize if you could. You’d give us the most genuine apology for dying and then promise to never do it again, because that’s just the way you were.
I miss you, Mom. I’m always going to miss you. Nothing would give me more joy than to come downstairs in the morning to see you reading a book and sipping your coffee like nothing ever happened. I would love to wake up to the sound of you vacuuming at 11:30 at night while singing ‘Ave Maria’ at the top of your lungs. I’d do almost anything to hug you goodnight again.
Thank you, Mom. Thank you, and happy birthday.
With all the love in the world,
P.S. The graveyard your in has a wild chicken living in one of the trees. Julia said it was their poul-tree. Just thought you’d get a kick out of that.