A series of letters. Letter 4.

This is a beautiful letter from a daughter who after 28 years still misses her mom.
It was written by Susan Irene who blogs on susanirenefox

Dear Mom,
January 30 will be the 28th anniversary of your passing. It seems like so many more years have gone by, so much of life has occurred and disappeared.

The memories are so vivid of the few weeks before and the several weeks after. The terminal diagnosis, the fog in the hospital corridor, the roaring lion that came out of my voice insisting that we bring you home instead of shutting you away in a convalescent home.

A compassionate hospice nurse, the tearful and honest talks we had in the few days that remained, your last breath, the doctor who surreptitiously slipped your wedding ring into my hand just before the coroner arrived with his black bag, my horror of watching them take you away, my brother arriving just in time to kiss you good-bye.

Taking two days off to mourn, returning to someone packing up your home, stealing memories that to this day weigh heavy upon my heart. Weeks later, reaching for the phone every Wednesday at lunch to call you and check in, getting the number halfway dialed, then realizing no one would be there to answer. I legally took your first name as my middle name, afraid your memory would fade.

We used to talk about everything – about my worries, failures and successes. About your friends unable to talk with you when you were first diagnosed with breast cancer. More and more I missed those talks as I got older and made more and more mistakes. You were the only one who never considered me the black sheep of the family. You were the only one who understood who I was, down deep, down to the core.

Tears come as I write this, remembering people telling me after two or three short years that I should be over it – the death of you. I still miss you. I still ache to tell you everything, my sins, my successes, my transformation. I still grieve for my mother’s hug, still wish I could crumble into your arms and have you stroke my now-white hair, tell me it will be all right.

Somehow, as I write this, I know you are reading over my shoulder. You are – have always been – a part of me, through my DNA. You have given me the best of you, and I am thankful for that. You have given me the peacemaker, the writer, the heart of me. Hell, you even gave me the breast cancer. But you and God saw me through it. You always told me I was a risk taker and a survivor.

You have given me the courage to go my own way. Because of you, I have.
And I will until I see you and God again, face to face.

Your loving daughter,
Susan Irene

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “A series of letters. Letter 4.

  1. That was a heart rending account of her beloved mother’s death. I wish I had a mother/daughter relationship like that.

      1. you are most welcome, susan. you are lucky to have had such a close relationship with your mother. thanks for reading and following my blog, and i look forward to reading more from you as well. happy to have sent a happy memory of your mother your way ) beth

  2. Such a touching letter. I lost my mother 4 years ago to cancer and I can relate to so much of this. I too have adopted my mother’s name as my middle name in memory of such a special, beloved woman.

  3. Thank you so much for sharing this touching letter. It makes me stop and thank God that I still have my mom here to hug and be hugged by. Her health is failing and she is becoming more difficult to be around, and sometimes it is easy to forget (or hard to remember) the woman and mother she was.

  4. i read this on Susan’s page just a few minutes ago. So touching and true. My mum and I became real friends and talked about everything. i still miss her. No one replaces a mum. x

  5. Your letter made me bawl my eyes out. Thank you for sharing this very beautiful relationship you had with your mom. What a blessing!

Comments are always welcome.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s