Letter to mom.
I wanted to post this here because I feel the more people who I can share this with the more likely my mother will see it. I wrote this for and read at my mother's services.
What can be said about my mother? A lot, a whole lot actually. She wasn’t perfect…but I never got the chance to tell her just how much I loved each and every one of her imperfections. Because of this, I have written a letter to her that I would like to share.
Dear mommy,
I love you so very much each and every fiber in my body aches to be with you again. I’m so sorry for every single moment lost with you and every time I ever raised my voice or said something nasty. You were such an amazing person and none of us realized just how amazing until it was too late. So many people were helped by you in life. So many people loved you in life. I suppose we had all hoped the love for you would keep you here with us but we were wrong. We tried the best we could to build you the perfect garden of life to live in, regardless of all our own flaws…but we failed. I know now it wasn’t our fault we couldn’t make you happy, I just wish we could have anyway…
The hardest part of this is now I can’t call you anymore to ask you about recipes or for stories of grandma and grandpa. I can’t call you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice or to tell you about a dream I had. I can’t complain to you about all the frivolous little things I would complain about and you can’t calm me down anymore and tell me “it’s okay, don’t let it get to you.” You can’t tell me you love me, even though I’m dying to hear it since it’s been so long now since I did. I can’t mumble “I love you too” under my breath to you again, hoping no one else heard it. I can’t say “mom…please…” in an annoyed way when you’d start tapping your feet and jiggling…well…everything. And you can’t roll your eyes at me and say “jeez, Cath.” I can’t say inappropriate things to you or my siblings and expect you to pipe in “don’t be so vulgar, Catherine” nor can I say something back to you like “you’re just mad ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ in on the action.” I want to annoy you, I want you to annoy me. I would give anything for you to be giving me a slobbery kiss on the cheek right now as I desperately try to escape your grasp. I’d give anything for you to say you don’t like my outfit or that you think my hair is messy or that my food is too bland…I’d give anything to live a lifetime of being annoyed to no end as long as it meant a lifetime of you in my life. I love you so much and I never really told you. For that I am eternally sorry. The moment you died I realized all of my love for you at the same time that I lost it… But just so you know, because I know you always wanted this to be true, the moment all four of your children hugged for the first time…in…well…probably the first time ever, my love for you came alive again. And I promise to keep you alive in this way. I know it would make you happy. I know it’s sad, and I hate that this is how it happened, but this terrible tragic event has brought about good in that it has brought your family together. So for this, I thank you mommy. When the worst most possible thing happens…everything that follows has only to be better, since the worst is over. I vow to bring about only good from this day forward, just especially for you. I vow to live a life you would be proud of. I vow to love my future children in a way they deserve to be loved, as you loved us.
I wish you could have known just how much the world weeps for you now that you are gone. You had no idea the immense impact you had on every life you touched. I wish you had at least known how much I love you. How sorry I am for my last words to you. How much I long to see you at my wedding, all dressed up looking absolutely gorgeous…mom, I want you there so badly. You promised you’d be there…please, mommy… I will keep you there in my heart, as you will always be there now and I know I can always find you. I miss you so much already and just wish I could hug and kiss you, is all. But I understand. Just please, please know I love you with all my heart and soul and breath and being.
~Your very much loving daughter, Catherine…
PS: please come home…
What can be said about my mother? A lot, a whole lot actually. She wasn’t perfect…but I never got the chance to tell her just how much I loved each and every one of her imperfections. Because of this, I have written a letter to her that I would like to share.
Dear mommy,
I love you so very much each and every fiber in my body aches to be with you again. I’m so sorry for every single moment lost with you and every time I ever raised my voice or said something nasty. You were such an amazing person and none of us realized just how amazing until it was too late. So many people were helped by you in life. So many people loved you in life. I suppose we had all hoped the love for you would keep you here with us but we were wrong. We tried the best we could to build you the perfect garden of life to live in, regardless of all our own flaws…but we failed. I know now it wasn’t our fault we couldn’t make you happy, I just wish we could have anyway…
The hardest part of this is now I can’t call you anymore to ask you about recipes or for stories of grandma and grandpa. I can’t call you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice or to tell you about a dream I had. I can’t complain to you about all the frivolous little things I would complain about and you can’t calm me down anymore and tell me “it’s okay, don’t let it get to you.” You can’t tell me you love me, even though I’m dying to hear it since it’s been so long now since I did. I can’t mumble “I love you too” under my breath to you again, hoping no one else heard it. I can’t say “mom…please…” in an annoyed way when you’d start tapping your feet and jiggling…well…everything. And you can’t roll your eyes at me and say “jeez, Cath.” I can’t say inappropriate things to you or my siblings and expect you to pipe in “don’t be so vulgar, Catherine” nor can I say something back to you like “you’re just mad ‘cause you ain’t gettin’ in on the action.” I want to annoy you, I want you to annoy me. I would give anything for you to be giving me a slobbery kiss on the cheek right now as I desperately try to escape your grasp. I’d give anything for you to say you don’t like my outfit or that you think my hair is messy or that my food is too bland…I’d give anything to live a lifetime of being annoyed to no end as long as it meant a lifetime of you in my life. I love you so much and I never really told you. For that I am eternally sorry. The moment you died I realized all of my love for you at the same time that I lost it… But just so you know, because I know you always wanted this to be true, the moment all four of your children hugged for the first time…in…well…probably the first time ever, my love for you came alive again. And I promise to keep you alive in this way. I know it would make you happy. I know it’s sad, and I hate that this is how it happened, but this terrible tragic event has brought about good in that it has brought your family together. So for this, I thank you mommy. When the worst most possible thing happens…everything that follows has only to be better, since the worst is over. I vow to bring about only good from this day forward, just especially for you. I vow to live a life you would be proud of. I vow to love my future children in a way they deserve to be loved, as you loved us.
I wish you could have known just how much the world weeps for you now that you are gone. You had no idea the immense impact you had on every life you touched. I wish you had at least known how much I love you. How sorry I am for my last words to you. How much I long to see you at my wedding, all dressed up looking absolutely gorgeous…mom, I want you there so badly. You promised you’d be there…please, mommy… I will keep you there in my heart, as you will always be there now and I know I can always find you. I miss you so much already and just wish I could hug and kiss you, is all. But I understand. Just please, please know I love you with all my heart and soul and breath and being.
~Your very much loving daughter, Catherine…
PS: please come home…