Letters to Mom 4.28.16

I went in to the store yesterday to buy bananas. Signs everywhere proclaiming the special way to celebrate mom this year.

And I floated the rest of the way through the store thinking about how I’ve celebrated you the last two years.

You visited me in my dream last night. As you have before.

Often the same bewildered look on your face as when we tried to get you to take your medicine. When we just wanted you to be at peace. And after seeing your face the moments up to and after your death I would have wished for the bewildered look because that meant you were still alive.

Almost always the same dream.

You-- weak and helpless; Me trying to help you. Running around and screaming at the top of my lungs for help. And there are people around but they can’t help.

And then you disappear like a ghost. You leave. I frantically yell for you MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM. PLEASE MOM PLEASE MOM PLEASE MOM COME BACK.

And sometimes you do. For an instant. And sometimes you’re gone for the rest of the dream.

Last night I screamed and screamed for you and you found me. And you hugged me. I don’t know how we got there, but I was just in your arms. And I felt warm. I could smell you. I closed my eyes in the dream and sunk my head into your chest. I could feel you breathing. I could hear your heartbeat beneath me. We held each other so close and so tight and I remember thinking God was letting us see each other in this moment in my dream. And then before I could unbury my head from your chest you were gone again.

I woke up gasping for air. Frozen. I needed to cry but no words would come out of my mouth. Just painful moans from the bottom of my belly. Like someone was reaching into my chest, twisting my heart with his bare hand. Stealing my breath. My very life.

“I miss you mom” is too small. It’s too small of words and a sentence and it doesn’t capture this feeling of pure loss clawing it’s way to the top of my lips. I would give anything to find you and tell you. To tell you one more time that I love you with all of my heart and not a day is the same since you have been gone and every time I see a rose bush I think of you and every time look in the mirror I see you and every time something exciting happens I get my phone to call you. Mom will this feeling of agony stay draped across my heart my whole life? Will it ever subside?

I hate seeing you in pain in my dreams. I hate feeling so powerless. I hate the anxiety and panic as I search and search for you. As I try to help you. But I would do it every night if it meant I got to hug you for one more second. For one split second in my sleep.


I miss you Mom.

I will see you in my dreams.