Dear Mom,
I haven't had a lot of dreams of you recently. I also haven't cried a lot recently, though if I let myself feel it, I will fall to pieces. I can tell I've been bottling things up, holding them in, as if I let them go, I'll let you go. I know it's irrational, but I can't help it.
The video/audio I seem to be constantly replaying is the 36 hours before you died, over and over and over. It's driving me crazy, Mom. I just keep hearing me tell you I love you, and hearing your whispered voice telling me you love me too. I keep hearing your breathing and wishing on everything I can that you'd have lived, that the evil cancer would have stopped or slowed...I swear I cried so hard for you in those hours. Fell to my knees and down on the ground, wrapped in myself so much and kept so quiet as I cried. It was not loud or obnoxious, just tears falling, falling.
I'm sort of glad that Dad wasn't awake to watch you die too, because it would have been too hard for him. One of the hardest things we've ever done, after saying goodbye to David that day, was Dad and me walking back to your room hand in hand and crying. We talked quickly and I suggested to him we tell you how much we love you, and that you didn't have to fight anymore--that you could let go and didn't have to stay here in pain for us. It bothered me because I couldn't tell if you were still cognizant of things or not. I hated to think that your mind was still completely well and we were telling you to die...I think you understood though. By then your kidneys had failed and you probably weren't very aware of things, though you often could listen to us.
I still miss you so much it physically pains me sometimes. I can't listen to certain songs because they make me think of you. Of praying for your death to be quick and painless, of praying and hoping for the cancer to stop, disappear. I wondered if God Himself had heard me, and I wasn't sure. I hated the thought He hadn't heard me.
Death is such a terrible thing. I simply can't seem to get a handle on things that I need to. I keep trying to get things done around the house and I just CAN'T SEEM to get a grip. I keep wishing that I could rewind the world to Early-Mid June, back when life was seemingly perfect. Then I could tell you to just go to the Dr and get that hysterectomy, and not worry about the repercussions of it. I sometimes wish you'd have listened to me, but even by the time we talked about that, it was probably too late. The outcome might have been the same, and the devil himself is making me think it might not have been the same, that you'd still be alive. I tell myself I'm being tricked by his evil. I am still trying to relearn how to trust God after this happened. I am so scared to do it since He didn't save you...
I'm trying to be a good girl, Mom. I'm trying to get better about this. I'm still so depressed, I sometimes feel so very alone. Oh Mom--I wish I could still hug you. I wish I could feel your arms around mine and eat your good cooking, for us to talk and laugh and love together. I still needed you here; why did you get taken away?
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
4
Dear Mom,
I keep dreaming of you. Keep having dreams. In this one we were hiding from people, getting ready to go to the memorial in Connecticut...and you were alive-but-not, if that makes sense. You were wearing your beautiful peach Easter dress. I could touch and hug your semi-corporeal body. It was only a little disturbing, because you were really a ghost.
Life keeps throwing me around, and I don't know what I can do to make things better for myself. I keep trying so hard to make my life better, in the normal and "safe" ways, meaning, not racking up credit card debt and other bad things, and I can't ever seem to get ahead.
I was reading back on some old emails you sent me and I am so thankful I still have them. I keep thinking I should call you, and that's been hard for me. The last few days I've just felt like crying and crying, and sometimes my body shakes with tears. My lip quivers, and hot tears fall from my eyes onto my cheeks. I really, really miss you. I don't know what to do about it other than miss you more acutely each day. I keep telling myself that it sucks to be here when you're not, but overall I am so happy you're not suffering anymore. I know it is selfish of me to want you to be here on earth, even though you'd be in pain or suffering. I'm so tired and sad of Cancer being around. I am so depressed without you, Mom.
I feel sometimes as if I can't go on, even though I know that's what you wanted me to do. I've been pretty good the last few days and haven't cried much, but it keeps wanting to well up inside me and overflow. Most of the time I want to stay curled up in bed and sleep all day. This depression is getting to me. I've been talking to you a lot when I drive to and fro, trying to get something more or discover something in myself. I also keep feeling as if you're still around, and while I generally like that, I don't know what to make of it.
Anyway Mom, I don't have much more to say for now. Life has been too hard in the last weeks, and it'd be easier if you were here for me to talk to. I miss you so very much that when I think about it I cry. I wish you could give me some advice. I could really use it.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
I keep dreaming of you. Keep having dreams. In this one we were hiding from people, getting ready to go to the memorial in Connecticut...and you were alive-but-not, if that makes sense. You were wearing your beautiful peach Easter dress. I could touch and hug your semi-corporeal body. It was only a little disturbing, because you were really a ghost.
Life keeps throwing me around, and I don't know what I can do to make things better for myself. I keep trying so hard to make my life better, in the normal and "safe" ways, meaning, not racking up credit card debt and other bad things, and I can't ever seem to get ahead.
I was reading back on some old emails you sent me and I am so thankful I still have them. I keep thinking I should call you, and that's been hard for me. The last few days I've just felt like crying and crying, and sometimes my body shakes with tears. My lip quivers, and hot tears fall from my eyes onto my cheeks. I really, really miss you. I don't know what to do about it other than miss you more acutely each day. I keep telling myself that it sucks to be here when you're not, but overall I am so happy you're not suffering anymore. I know it is selfish of me to want you to be here on earth, even though you'd be in pain or suffering. I'm so tired and sad of Cancer being around. I am so depressed without you, Mom.
I feel sometimes as if I can't go on, even though I know that's what you wanted me to do. I've been pretty good the last few days and haven't cried much, but it keeps wanting to well up inside me and overflow. Most of the time I want to stay curled up in bed and sleep all day. This depression is getting to me. I've been talking to you a lot when I drive to and fro, trying to get something more or discover something in myself. I also keep feeling as if you're still around, and while I generally like that, I don't know what to make of it.
Anyway Mom, I don't have much more to say for now. Life has been too hard in the last weeks, and it'd be easier if you were here for me to talk to. I miss you so very much that when I think about it I cry. I wish you could give me some advice. I could really use it.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
3
Dear Mom,
I'm still trying to learn to live without you being here. I'm still talking about you in the present tense. I've been having problems with that. I guess I'm not the only one, so I guess that isn't totally unheard of. It will take me months to get used to that.
I keep almost calling your cell phone. Dad had said he had wished he had given your cell to one of the aunts...but I said I'm glad he forgot it in Maine. Your number is still there and I didn't want to get a phone call from "Mom" on my cell and have it be a relative, and not you. That would seriously mess with my head and not in a good way.
I just keep thinking that you're still here. It's hard for me. It's weird, because I can say simply that I watched you die, I went to your funeral, I saw you buried. I know you're not alive anymore. I'm trying not to be in denial about it. I am entirely happy for you being in Heaven. No question about that. And I know I'm being selfish.
I'm just trying to learn to deal with things. Trying to grieve properly. How does one really, truly grieve the experience of losing a parent? I'm not sure I'm doing it the right way, but I have to at least try.
Once I feel steady enough, I'm planning on writing a new book about us. About our lives, about love and family and faith. You know where I'm going with this, right? I plan on dedicating it to you, Mom, as well as Dad. I am so thankful for both of you.
Dad and David bought me a KitchenAid mixer for my birthday. It is so awesome! You'd really like it. I plan on making David and Dad some Calzones when they come through Minneapolis sometime. The dough hook is amazingly wonderful. They were both glad that I liked my present so much, even though it wasn't what one might think of as a good birthday gift.
I'll leave off for now, because I'm done writing for today. I'll write in a few days when I might have more to say. Love you, Mom.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
I'm still trying to learn to live without you being here. I'm still talking about you in the present tense. I've been having problems with that. I guess I'm not the only one, so I guess that isn't totally unheard of. It will take me months to get used to that.
I keep almost calling your cell phone. Dad had said he had wished he had given your cell to one of the aunts...but I said I'm glad he forgot it in Maine. Your number is still there and I didn't want to get a phone call from "Mom" on my cell and have it be a relative, and not you. That would seriously mess with my head and not in a good way.
I just keep thinking that you're still here. It's hard for me. It's weird, because I can say simply that I watched you die, I went to your funeral, I saw you buried. I know you're not alive anymore. I'm trying not to be in denial about it. I am entirely happy for you being in Heaven. No question about that. And I know I'm being selfish.
I'm just trying to learn to deal with things. Trying to grieve properly. How does one really, truly grieve the experience of losing a parent? I'm not sure I'm doing it the right way, but I have to at least try.
Once I feel steady enough, I'm planning on writing a new book about us. About our lives, about love and family and faith. You know where I'm going with this, right? I plan on dedicating it to you, Mom, as well as Dad. I am so thankful for both of you.
Dad and David bought me a KitchenAid mixer for my birthday. It is so awesome! You'd really like it. I plan on making David and Dad some Calzones when they come through Minneapolis sometime. The dough hook is amazingly wonderful. They were both glad that I liked my present so much, even though it wasn't what one might think of as a good birthday gift.
I'll leave off for now, because I'm done writing for today. I'll write in a few days when I might have more to say. Love you, Mom.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
Sunday, September 12, 2010
2
Dear Mom,
Yesterday was a little better for me. I was able to go to work for the first time since I left for Boston and not get too overwhelmed. Friday was a good day too. In fact, it was such a good day that normally I'd have called and said so...You would be proud of me for the day I had.
Linda has been checking in with me every few weeks (Chris's Mom) and making sure I'm ok. She, Chris and I went out for a drive/walk to Wayzata for a few hours to people watch and see the sailboats...it was very peaceful, really. It reminded me of the Yarmouth Harbor that Dad and I drove by a few times when we were at your house...lots of little boats and sails running around.
Linda said that after her mom died, all the kids and she noticed that they saw butterflies all the time...and she said that her mom loved butterflies. I wish I had something like that, to see you. I'll be keeping an eye out, just in case, because I'd like to see you around. You're still visiting me in my dreams but recently less so. I wish you'd come by every night, because I miss you.
My birthday was early last week, just after Labor Day. I turned 25. A few weeks ago I remember talking to you about it, how scared I was to be turning 25. You said that you had a hard time with that too. 30 wasn't such a big deal, you said. I agreed with you on that. I wish you could have been at my birthday party, Mom. All your sisters organized a party for me, and even Grandma M and Tom and Helen came! We had a great time eating food on the BBQ. Dad is a good griller! We had a lot of unhealthy food, but we splurged a little on it. We also had cake and Hudsonville Ice cream. Everybody had a lot of fun making me feel awkward when I opened presents. I hated attention being on me. Jon and Bri made a really nice video and music of my life and dedicated it to you...there wasn't a dry eye in the house! You would have felt weird with pictures of you up there though...all those 90s hair and dresses! You looked great though. Always put together.
Today is your memorial in Connecticut. Dad made an executive decision that David and I not go. That's ok, though I haven't been in Brookfield since April 2008 I think. After this it will be "over" from a closure standpoint for him, but it will never really be over, you know? I think he is driving back home tonight and will start work tomorrow. I don't know though. I've been giving him a little space even though I don't really want to. I don't want to smother him, of course, but I don't want to let him get lonely, either.
All of us wish you had made it home from Boston, even for a little bit. To have some more time. I'm kinda kicking myself for not coming out earlier and spending time. I really, really miss you and wish I hadn't wasted so many opportunities. Tim has been asking me "what do you want? what do you need?" and I always say "I want my mom back." Then I cry, like I am now. It's a little more restrained crying at the moment, but I know it will soon turn to body-wracking sobs.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
Yesterday was a little better for me. I was able to go to work for the first time since I left for Boston and not get too overwhelmed. Friday was a good day too. In fact, it was such a good day that normally I'd have called and said so...You would be proud of me for the day I had.
Linda has been checking in with me every few weeks (Chris's Mom) and making sure I'm ok. She, Chris and I went out for a drive/walk to Wayzata for a few hours to people watch and see the sailboats...it was very peaceful, really. It reminded me of the Yarmouth Harbor that Dad and I drove by a few times when we were at your house...lots of little boats and sails running around.
Linda said that after her mom died, all the kids and she noticed that they saw butterflies all the time...and she said that her mom loved butterflies. I wish I had something like that, to see you. I'll be keeping an eye out, just in case, because I'd like to see you around. You're still visiting me in my dreams but recently less so. I wish you'd come by every night, because I miss you.
My birthday was early last week, just after Labor Day. I turned 25. A few weeks ago I remember talking to you about it, how scared I was to be turning 25. You said that you had a hard time with that too. 30 wasn't such a big deal, you said. I agreed with you on that. I wish you could have been at my birthday party, Mom. All your sisters organized a party for me, and even Grandma M and Tom and Helen came! We had a great time eating food on the BBQ. Dad is a good griller! We had a lot of unhealthy food, but we splurged a little on it. We also had cake and Hudsonville Ice cream. Everybody had a lot of fun making me feel awkward when I opened presents. I hated attention being on me. Jon and Bri made a really nice video and music of my life and dedicated it to you...there wasn't a dry eye in the house! You would have felt weird with pictures of you up there though...all those 90s hair and dresses! You looked great though. Always put together.
Today is your memorial in Connecticut. Dad made an executive decision that David and I not go. That's ok, though I haven't been in Brookfield since April 2008 I think. After this it will be "over" from a closure standpoint for him, but it will never really be over, you know? I think he is driving back home tonight and will start work tomorrow. I don't know though. I've been giving him a little space even though I don't really want to. I don't want to smother him, of course, but I don't want to let him get lonely, either.
All of us wish you had made it home from Boston, even for a little bit. To have some more time. I'm kinda kicking myself for not coming out earlier and spending time. I really, really miss you and wish I hadn't wasted so many opportunities. Tim has been asking me "what do you want? what do you need?" and I always say "I want my mom back." Then I cry, like I am now. It's a little more restrained crying at the moment, but I know it will soon turn to body-wracking sobs.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
Friday, September 10, 2010
1
Dear Mom,
It's been a little over two weeks since I saw you die in Brigham Women's Hospital, and about a week since your funeral. I'm having some problems dealing with the fact you're gone. I miss you SO MUCH. I love you so much more.
I've been having dreams about you since you died. I am so thankful for them but at the same time I am so sad that I can only see and talk to you in my dreams. I wish you were still here. I keep thinking that if I were only to call your cell phone, or even call the house when Dad's working that you'd just pick up and I could talk to you. I feel like I need so much advice. I'm so young, and I need my mom.
I wish I could have appreciated everything you did so much more when you were still alive; but I know more than ever that you heard me when I said I loved you, and that I was stupid to be a dumb teenager for all that time. I'm so sorry I hurt you...I always loved you, even when you thought I didn't. How could I not love you? You're my mom and I always, always loved you. I'm so thankful we had some good years before you got sick--we had started mending bridges a few years ago. I wish I'd have told you when you were well how sorry I was. How was I to know that you would leave us after only 8 weeks?
I'm worried now that I won't be a good mom when I have my own kids. How can I know how to be a good mom without you to call and ask for advice? Who will come in and calm me down in the delivery room when I freak out and need you? I feel so alone, Mom. So very alone. I know I'm not though, but I still don't know what to do.
I miss you so much. Please know that up in Heaven on your cloud, OK?
I'm getting really angry, Mom. Not at you, not at God, but I'm mad at Satan for taking you away from me. I'm angry because September is Cancer Awareness Month and unfortunately for me, I am now so acutely aware I could punch somebody. I'm angry because I can't believe how evil Cancer really is, and how badly I wish the outcome could have been different.
You would probably be glad to know that when I think of you I remember you as alive and vibrant and always going-going, smiling and always happy instead of what you were when I went to Boston. I'm just saying I'm remembering you as you were, not as you ended up. I'm not trying to insult you, Mom, truly...I just think you would like for me to remember you the way you were before the Cancer took hold. You were still beautiful even then, even when the Cancer had ravaged you and hurt your body in ways I can only imagine. You were so beautiful. I loved every line on your face and every smile I could get from you, even when I wasn't sure you were listening. I'll always be your little girl, your darling redhead.
I love you forever and always. I'm going to have to stop here because I am crying so hard my body is shaking.
Love,
Christy
It's been a little over two weeks since I saw you die in Brigham Women's Hospital, and about a week since your funeral. I'm having some problems dealing with the fact you're gone. I miss you SO MUCH. I love you so much more.
I've been having dreams about you since you died. I am so thankful for them but at the same time I am so sad that I can only see and talk to you in my dreams. I wish you were still here. I keep thinking that if I were only to call your cell phone, or even call the house when Dad's working that you'd just pick up and I could talk to you. I feel like I need so much advice. I'm so young, and I need my mom.
I wish I could have appreciated everything you did so much more when you were still alive; but I know more than ever that you heard me when I said I loved you, and that I was stupid to be a dumb teenager for all that time. I'm so sorry I hurt you...I always loved you, even when you thought I didn't. How could I not love you? You're my mom and I always, always loved you. I'm so thankful we had some good years before you got sick--we had started mending bridges a few years ago. I wish I'd have told you when you were well how sorry I was. How was I to know that you would leave us after only 8 weeks?
I'm worried now that I won't be a good mom when I have my own kids. How can I know how to be a good mom without you to call and ask for advice? Who will come in and calm me down in the delivery room when I freak out and need you? I feel so alone, Mom. So very alone. I know I'm not though, but I still don't know what to do.
I miss you so much. Please know that up in Heaven on your cloud, OK?
I'm getting really angry, Mom. Not at you, not at God, but I'm mad at Satan for taking you away from me. I'm angry because September is Cancer Awareness Month and unfortunately for me, I am now so acutely aware I could punch somebody. I'm angry because I can't believe how evil Cancer really is, and how badly I wish the outcome could have been different.
You would probably be glad to know that when I think of you I remember you as alive and vibrant and always going-going, smiling and always happy instead of what you were when I went to Boston. I'm just saying I'm remembering you as you were, not as you ended up. I'm not trying to insult you, Mom, truly...I just think you would like for me to remember you the way you were before the Cancer took hold. You were still beautiful even then, even when the Cancer had ravaged you and hurt your body in ways I can only imagine. You were so beautiful. I loved every line on your face and every smile I could get from you, even when I wasn't sure you were listening. I'll always be your little girl, your darling redhead.
I love you forever and always. I'm going to have to stop here because I am crying so hard my body is shaking.
Love,
Christy
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