It’s not home without you. Knowing you always wanted to be the first to see us — no matter the hour – was just the kind of thing I always loved about you. The caregiver of all caregivers.
Now you watch over us from a different place, guiding the way and helping to make sure no evil befalls us. I cherish the thought that although you are not physically with us, you are here on spirit and in our hearts.
Today I wanted to see you, to share with you. And I am sad that I cannot, but at peace. It seems like you are there making these moments come to life from wherever you are now.
In that way you live on to love us and take care of us. In death as was in life, I humbly thank you for all you did and are doing for us. Thanks for looking out for us.
I cannot explain why today more than any other day I miss you more. Maybe it is a reminder from finishing out the show The United States of Tara. E and I started watching that show a while back and just became emotionally hooked.
I think it is because when to came to you I am glad you did not suffer as much and that we all had a chance to enjoy your company even if toward the end it was a little unpredictable. The fact was — is — you are a wonderful mother, friend, and wife.
And although it feels okay for the most part that you are now gone, free from pain, there’s something missing in my life that doesn’t feel right. Coming up the stairs on the Blue Line is lonely without reaching for my phone to talk with you. Or when I come to visit you would always stay awake to greet me, no matter what time it was.
I miss you. A lot.
Hey there! Today would have been a lovely day to celebrate you. I imagine this year I would’ve come to visit and we would have finally tried to get to Cafe Roma in Detroit like I always wanted to try to take you.
I thought about you a lot and had a good dose of memories heaped on me. I am remembering the way you would always make something very special for our birthdays, for instance, and am craving your chicken and dumplings recipe. I know you didn’t like how it turned out but it seems that we have some of your tamales here too. Cannot wait to dive into those soon.
The little things usually mean the most the more you think about them. For some reason today’s comfort comes from food and how much love you put into them every time you made something. Perhaps that’s what I immediately think of taking you out to dinner, to give you a break on your special day, and to have another adventure.
Love you tons, and talk to you soon.
We heard a big loud crashing sound last night. We got really scared because we thought we were being burgled. Turns out it was just that big, green-and-magenta painting in the hallway that fell off one of its hooks, and swung against the wall. Really spooky sounding.
I told E about it and she said the cross that was on the bathroom door fell on the floor, and under the big metal shelf in the kitchen.
I assumed it was you trying to navigate our home. Door’s always open for you — you don’t have to knock everything over. 😉
I hope you don’t mind but we were cleaning some of your food out. Dad doesn’t like spices or things like pomegranate sauce, but I sure do. I recognize some of the foods you used to make in the freezer so I will take those home too.
I wish I would’ve learned your lentil recipe but I promise to experiment and make it again. If you are available it’d be great to have your guiding hand.
I still cannot believe that it has been nearly two weeks since I lost my mother. The time has gone by so quickly.
Life hasn’t changed too much but knowing I cannot call her or see her ever again is starting to become a reality. Until now it has been a hazy dream, like I have only been on vacation or she is still in hospital.
After the first memorial service in Michigan and now another one here at home, the truth is starting to sink in. Unbelievable.