Dear Mom,
Two years now you've been gone. Two years and I feel like I've come around the world a few times. I'm still harder-hearted than I probably want to be about it. Still sore. But I'm starting to do better. I'm not immediately known as "The Girl With a Dead Mom" at work or even in my public life. But people notice when important dates come around because I tend to get angry still. I get short and annoyed and snappy. And then they ask. And then feel bad.
Dad and I talked on the day that we two recognize, and we said it was a good thing for us to have to share together. We were glad to be with you in your last hours, talking to you and trying to make you comfortable. I haven't forgotten walking David to his car and hugging him tight, and then walking back to the hospital room clutching at Dad's hand, and saying that since you were fighting that we might need to give you permission. And we bawled. I still cry. Not every day, but every few weeks.
I've started doing better with General Cancer stuff. Like when somebody I know's parent/sibling/relative is doing well, I'm not entirely jealous/angry/hurtful. I'm mostly happy. But then I think that so many people get Cancer and live; you got Cancer and died. Breaks my heart everyday. But it's getting better. I don't beat myself up anymore. People haven't really bothered me too much recently.
I'm 27 now, too. Two years ago the Aunts threw me birthday party. Seeing as we buried you two days before my birthday, they wanted me to have a good day. It was sweet and thoughtful. And it was mournful too, because all we wanted was for you to be there. Thankfully they didn't make us eat the leftover coldcut sandwiches that were leftover from your funeral.
Life is going well here. I love you. Things are OK. I am OK. Dad and David and Tim are OK. You're so loved.
I love you, forever and always.
Love,
Christy
