Dear Mom,
You've been gone over a year. Your son and husband (yes, my brother and father) went on vacation so no one was home for the anniversary of your death. I went to see you cousin and your son-in-law (yes, I know, my husband) preached a short message for the first time in seven years. The month of August is nearly over and we're finally getting around to celebrating the anniversary of your death or maybe it's a memorial. You know I'm terrible at these things, pretending to care about something I don't really care about.
You're gone. I've accepted that. I've learned to live with hit. I've managed to move on with my life, even if that life has a huge hole in it shaped like you.
Your sister called me and gave me her chicken korma recipe. That's what started the whole thing. After I hung up the phone that I realized how much she sounds like you, the way she talks. But then she's your sister so she should sound like you. The way she said I should use half ghee and half oil and it'll taste good but maybe not so good for health. I could hear you telling her that in that big sister tone you used.
You're happy aren't you? I mean you're where you always wanted to be, in the arms of your Father. How could I want you to be here with me? That would be selfish and it seems I do love you enough to be ok with you being gone because I know you're happy.
It took us a year but I think we're getting there. You said to me that you weren't worried about me because you knew I was going to be all right. I think I am getting there. You said that it was better this way and I'm starting to believe it. It is better with you gone. Somehow, when you were here you kept us together, you cared for us, you loved us. Without you, we had to learn how to do all that and in a way, we are a lot better than we have ever been.
It's a new kind of better mom. In a way, like your son said, you did water us, your own personal garden on earth and we have thrived under your care. With you gone we suffered but our roots are deep so we have managed to bounce back and thrive. You know, only God could do that, give us beauty for our ashes, joy for our sorrows.
Today I am happy. I didn't think I would be. I am tired and so is Dad. He and I spent the entire day cooking, arguing, and cooking. The food isn't exactly as good as yours (because you didn't make it) but it's pretty close. I nearly had a mishap with the chicken but he insisted I believe it's going to work. So I made it work. We'll see tomorrow. I was nervous about the rice so it didn't come out exactly like yours but he fixed it and made it work. We did the rice pudding, it tasted the way yours used to taste.
We talked a lot about you. We missed you. We remembered you. He said that I could do all the things you could. You know, that was the nicest thing he has ever said to me. He even insisted that I focus on my writing and get published.
Tomorrow we're having a memorial. This is mine to you.
You've been gone over a year. Your son and husband (yes, my brother and father) went on vacation so no one was home for the anniversary of your death. I went to see you cousin and your son-in-law (yes, I know, my husband) preached a short message for the first time in seven years. The month of August is nearly over and we're finally getting around to celebrating the anniversary of your death or maybe it's a memorial. You know I'm terrible at these things, pretending to care about something I don't really care about.
You're gone. I've accepted that. I've learned to live with hit. I've managed to move on with my life, even if that life has a huge hole in it shaped like you.
Your sister called me and gave me her chicken korma recipe. That's what started the whole thing. After I hung up the phone that I realized how much she sounds like you, the way she talks. But then she's your sister so she should sound like you. The way she said I should use half ghee and half oil and it'll taste good but maybe not so good for health. I could hear you telling her that in that big sister tone you used.
You're happy aren't you? I mean you're where you always wanted to be, in the arms of your Father. How could I want you to be here with me? That would be selfish and it seems I do love you enough to be ok with you being gone because I know you're happy.
It took us a year but I think we're getting there. You said to me that you weren't worried about me because you knew I was going to be all right. I think I am getting there. You said that it was better this way and I'm starting to believe it. It is better with you gone. Somehow, when you were here you kept us together, you cared for us, you loved us. Without you, we had to learn how to do all that and in a way, we are a lot better than we have ever been.
It's a new kind of better mom. In a way, like your son said, you did water us, your own personal garden on earth and we have thrived under your care. With you gone we suffered but our roots are deep so we have managed to bounce back and thrive. You know, only God could do that, give us beauty for our ashes, joy for our sorrows.
Today I am happy. I didn't think I would be. I am tired and so is Dad. He and I spent the entire day cooking, arguing, and cooking. The food isn't exactly as good as yours (because you didn't make it) but it's pretty close. I nearly had a mishap with the chicken but he insisted I believe it's going to work. So I made it work. We'll see tomorrow. I was nervous about the rice so it didn't come out exactly like yours but he fixed it and made it work. We did the rice pudding, it tasted the way yours used to taste.
We talked a lot about you. We missed you. We remembered you. He said that I could do all the things you could. You know, that was the nicest thing he has ever said to me. He even insisted that I focus on my writing and get published.
Tomorrow we're having a memorial. This is mine to you.
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