Dear Mom,
I'm actually doing it. I've been a bit nervous to share this with anyone because I wasn't sure I was going to go through with it, but I am. It's confirmed.
A couple months ago, I went to open up a document in Microsoft Word... and it wouldn't work. Something about needing to be licensed and yadda yadda... and when I looked up how to go about renewing it, I saw a promotion about enrolled students being able to have free access to Microsoft Office. "Heh, wouldn't that be nice!"
A seed was planted in such a silly way
...but nonetheless, it grew.
I thought about it. And then I thought about it again. And then I saw an ad for a university days later that sounded like exactly what I'd be looking for... IF I were actually looking... even though I wasn't.
It went from, "Well, there's no harm in applying, right?" to "Okay, well I was accepted into the program, but that doesn't mean I have to do it..." to, "I can fill out the FAFSA just to see how it pans out... but that doesn't mean anything..." to "I'll hypothetically budget for it...time-wise, too" to, "let's see how many credits would transfer" to, "hmm... I'll map out class requirements... just to see" to, "okay...this is actually doable!" to, "Wow, I'm back to being a full-time student again... let's do this!"
If anyone would have asked me months ago if I'd be going back to finish my English degree, I'd have brushed them off with reason after reason about how I'm needed more in my other roles and that maybe one day, I'd pursue the dreams I had for myself before life unfolded otherwise, but who knows when.
And then I'd have been thinking about it wistfully for hours afterwards-- the subtle heartache of wanting more, but not feeling like those wants are justified... or even that they're selfish. So they get buried again. And again. And again. You know how I am.
I prayed about it, though. I didn't realize how long I actually had been praying over it... the silent kind of heartbeat prayer that only God can hear... but He does hear them.
I brought it up to Nathan when the idea was just a little sproutling. He encouraged me to go for it... just the nudge I needed.
So I start in January. Already sent in the photo for my ID and all. 💜
I know you'd be happy for me, Mom. You'd say you always knew I had it in me and you'd be there for the times it might feel overwhelming or I start to doubt. And then you'd make some joke about the time I had to get an ID photo taken... in PA... the DMV. Hah! Yeah, I remember it. And I'll cast my cares.I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
It’s been a while since I’ve had so much to say to ‘you’ openly. Some might take it as a sign that I started to close off… to compartmentalize my grief. Others might assume it means I’ve reached a transition from sorrow to acceptance. The reality is that I haven’t started missing or thinking of you any less; I’ve just been talking to God more. Directly. We’ve been hashing it out.
He showed me that even though I kept saying I understood and wasn’t mad at Him for ‘taking you away’… it was all just words; I didn’t actually understand, and I was actually furious. First at God, then at me, then at God, then at God AND me… marinating in the guilt that maybe if I were a ‘more Christiany Christian’ at the time (whatever that means) … maybe if my prayers held more weight… if I pleaded more… if I were louder… then maybe you’d still be here. You’re not though. Nothing is changing that. And that was silly of me to think, but I’m also human.
Remember when I was a little girl and I used to take turns in the pages of my diary writing, “Dear God,” then the next one would start off with, “Dear Jesus,” cycling through the trinity ‘so no one would feel left out’? I did that more recently with my frustration too… except I didn’t have the endearing nature of childhood naivety to obscure my intent. It was adult immaturity… a pachyderm ‘hiding’ behind a bonsai. I was bitter towards Them ‘all’. Shaken, but not stirred.
I stopped writing for a while. Internal suffocation. I don’t know if I did it as a subconscious effort to ‘punish’ myself… to sever my passion, my habitual outlet, to ‘punish’ God by keeping it all in (which is futile, really, because none of our thoughts or actions are hidden: Psalm 139), or because I just felt like none of it really mattered anymore… the same emotions cycled on repeat… who would want to relive it all in words, too?
I need to start writing again. But not about the same things as before—not the cataclysmic spectrum of past relationships, or the woes of a broken heart: passive-aggressive verbal arson. I see now that it was all just self-gratifying hollow justification for plank-eyed indignation—no matter how eloquently penned. I’m not going to live there anymore. The pain. The sorrow. It shook me without harvest.
I have a new purpose—or perhaps, I’m finally discovering one that was there all along. It wasn’t writer’s block… it was an intentional shift of focus—I was looking down when what I really needed was to be reaching up.
Yesterday, I heard Pastor Art Thomas say something that resonated quite loudly: “There’s life wherever the rivers flow.” And it brought to mind the very last song I ever sang at your bedside:
All who are thirsty, all who are weak
Come to the fountainDip your heart in the streams of life
Let the pain and the sorrow be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep
We sing, come, Lord Jesus, come
Holy Spirit, come.
As I sing it again now, I realize that I was the one who was thirsty. I was the one who was weak. I was the one whose heart needed new life… a new purpose… all I needed to do was to let go of all the wrong things and fully embrace the right One.
You already figured it out.
I miss you, Mom… but we’re in good hands. And so are you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Mom,
I'm getting baptized tonight at the beach. I never really told anyone, but it's always been a special dream of mine... to get baptized in the ocean... it's happening!
I remember being baptized when I was 8... and although I meant it with my whole heart then, nervously pinching my nose in the pool-- anticipating Pastor Angelo tipping me back into the water... so much has happened since that day in my imperfect-but-perpetually-forgiven life...my skittish mind... my changeable heart... and while God has been with me every moment since... every step of the way... even the times I've strayed and put my trust in myself instead of Him, or in my own thoughts... my own understanding... my own strength... He's held onto me and never let me go... I need to show Him that I'm holding on this time too... all in. ♡
I know you'll be there. Thank you for teaching me how to talk to Jesus when I was a little girl. Both you and Dad. We have a lot to catch up on, but until then...
I still miss you so much, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The morning started off normal enough. Fed the baby, helped Aria get ready for school and to the bus on time, strapped Norah into her car seat, made sure Machaela didn't forget anything, and started the car.
Your Van Morrison CD had been playing for a while, so I switched albums to Lauren Daigle ... the one you introduced me to back in 2019 when I was struggling in the aftermath of life-altering chaos. I pressed shuffle.
"Still Rolling Stones" started playing as Machaela buckled her seat belt and made sure she had her mask. She said that she thought it would be a great song to sing for the next talent show at school. I asked her if she knew what "You're still rolling stones" meant... so we discussed lyrics as we waited for the light to turn green at the intersection. By then, the song "Rescue" came on:
I hear you whisper underneath your breath
I hear your SOS, your SOS"The light turned green and my foot pressed down on the gas pedal.
I will send out an army to find you
In the middle of the darkest night
Except, there was a car coming from the other way that should've been slowing down; it wasn't. It was running the perpendicular red light while I was driving through the green one. The car stopped just in time. I don't know how it was able to do that as fast as it was charging through the intersection, but it did.
"It's true, I will rescue you" ... the song kept playing.
And I was reminded exactly how it happened.
When I pulled back into the driveway, I parked the car and tears started streaming down my face. I heard a sweet voice singing, "Look Up Child"... and when I did... I saw you there. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The check-in lines at CHS were so long today... the end of Spring Break... I should have realized. I walked through the door and was met with a mass of people seeping out past the outlined stanchions. I didn't have any bags to check since I wasn't catching a flight--I just had to get a gate pass to meet the girls at B4.
As I waited in the crowd, a frizzy-haired woman approached the group of us at the end of a clearly-marked line and asked the general public, "Is this line for Southwest?" Not being the one closest to her, I assumed someone else would answer, but when no one did, I chimed in with a simple "Yes" and a smile-- smiles are invisible under masks.
She mumbled something about needing to make sure first and, thinking she was going to join the line, I made room. Except, she moved to pass through instead, wheeling her bag behind. It seemed strange. I thought she was looking for this exact line. I shrugged it off-- until she spoke again.
As she walked through, without even making eye contact she said, "Cast your cares" and continued on her way. It was unmistakable.
My eyes welled with tears.
... Mom?
I still had to go through security even though I brought nothing with me... physically, at least. My mind was still cluttered, heavy, and now a bit confused... what was that? Why did she say that to me? There was no context for it... I hadn't said anything to her besides, "Yes." I took off my flip-flops and put them on the conveyor. I couldn't get the stranger's words out of my head... "cast your cares"... just like you'd always say.
I stepped through the checkpoint, put my shoes back on, and started walking to the gate where the plane would be letting the girls out shortly... and then I heard it... a very distinct voice singing out. Van Morrison. Your favorite. It was the song, "Jackie Wilson Said"--not one of his most popular ones, but I knew it... it was one you liked to sing while you watered your plants... and despite the airport noise pollution, the lyrics were clear:
Ding a ling a ling
Ding a ling a ling ding
I'm in heaven, I'm in heaven...
...
You must've heard my silent cries this morning wishing you were still here.
I definitely felt your presence today... and... I'll try... and I know.I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
It's your birthday today. I remember singing to you last year and how happy I was to be able to spend the day with you. I also remember how nervous you were because you had to go to Philly to start the transplant early the next morning where I would be joining you a few days later for my part of it.
I was nervous too and didn't tell you... but also excited... to finally be able to do something big for you after all you had done for all of us for so many years.
I know that birthdays are supposed to be a celebration of life... and I am eternally grateful for yours... I just wish that we had more time.
I remember playing it off like you still had so many birthdays left to celebrate... purposely trying not to make a 'big deal' of it so you kept your spirits high instead of being afraid--not that you'd have ever let on that you were scared. I don't ever recall a moment when you weren't brave... always so brave.
But now, looking back... I wish that I'd have made a bigger deal out of your birthday last year anyway... because you're so important... always have been. I just didn't know it was the last one we'd ever spend together. No one did.
I know you wouldn't want me to be sad, but it's truly hard not to be today. I'm trying. We love you, Mom.
I still miss you. 🤟🏻
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
It’s pouring outside again. We’ve been getting flash flood alerts off and on for weeks… the rain hasn’t eased up much in between either. You’d probably hate it here. I don’t usually mind it, though. I used to love the rain.
I feel sad a lot… and hate trying to come up with reasons that ‘make more sense’ for people to hear… ones that are also true... dreary weather… pregnancy blues… the overwhelming discomfort of these last weeks before the baby is here… lack of sleep… all more palatable than, “I just really miss my Mom and don’t always know how to compartmentalize the emotions in a way that keeps me behaving sociably”. It’s not even one of those things that you can just ‘talk out’. There’s only so much someone can say—and even then, it doesn’t really help.
I wouldn’t know what to say to me either… so I try not to put other people into the situation where they have to try to figure out what to say to make it seem better… which leads to self-isolation… and the resulting guilt from inadvertently distancing myself from everyone in an effort to spare them from grief… “it’s probably just the pregnancy hormones” … I try to convince myself, too.
“Rainy Days and Mondays” came on. You loved this song. The Carpenters. It fits. I used to think your singing voice sounded a lot like hers. You were just more self-conscious. I blame the nuns.
This morning marked Aria’s 100th day of school for this year. Her teacher said they could dress up like they’re 100 years old. You remember her outfit last year… the flowery/lace-collared mustard-colored dress with matching white sweater, big pearls, powder-haired bun, babushka, clip-on earrings, and round tortoise-shell glasses… She didn’t want to do that this year. She was going to wear a dress, the necklace, and the costume glasses, but she opted out of them saying, “I know Nonnie wasn’t 100 years old, but she didn’t wear glasses except for reading, so I’m not going to wear them today either.” They think about you a lot.
Nothing is the same anymore... not even the rain. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Mom,
I broke down last night when Trissy surprised me with a few special gifts you had been working on together specifically for the night before our wedding... including another Montgomery Moose... like the one you sent with me to school in first grade because you couldn't be there and I was nervous... like the very same one we tucked into your casket with you less than two months ago so you wouldn't be scared about being alone.
For as wonderful as today is... and for as happy as I am... it also still hurts.
I'll tell you more about everything later... 4 o'clock waits for no one.
I bet you'll be beautiful, too. I can't wait.
I miss you, Mom.
We all do. So much.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I can hardly believe that in less than two days, I have the honor of marrying the first boy I ever had a crush on.
You always had a soft spot in your heart for him... the cute little redhead who kept smiling at me during church... even back when we were kids. You weren't surprised in the least when we reconnected over twenty years later... when we fell head over heels for each other... again... or when he proposed on the Isle of Palms.
I remember your excitement when we called you afterwards... I remember our long talks about how much you were looking forward to recovering well enough to be able to be next to me when we exchange our vows. My matron of honor... and I know that you WILL be there, smiling down on us... probably saying, "Well, it's about time! I told you he was a keeper!"
It's going to be just us, the girls... our family... and even though we won't be able to celebrate in person with all of our friends and loved ones until after the pandemic retreats, it'll still be as perfect as can be.
I haven't finished writing my vows yet... I have so much of my heart to share--too much to fit into the span of a mere couple of minutes. I wish I could read them to you... so you can tell me if I'm being too funny when I should be serious... or being too serious when I should lighten up... but I think you would say to let my heart speak for itself instead of trying to nitpick at words.
There are less than two days until my first ever boyfriend also becomes my last... and I can hardly wait to tell you all about it. ♡
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I had a dream about you last night. My first one since that nightmare last month... this was actually a dream, though... or part of one, at least. So much of it was abstract... hidden armoires underneath the floor boards of a random building, an elevator of sorts that was more like its own structure... so many fleeting forgotten mirages of the imagination... and then there was you.
The scene shifted. We were at Grammy's house. Jenn was sitting on Grammy's old recliner--the one Grammy would fall asleep in while watching her soaps... the one with the sort of tight knit upholstery texture with mixtures of dark sienna and aged mustard micro-patterns woven into it... or at least that's how my memory has it stored. The recliner didn't quite match the carpet, but it didn't clash either. It was a constant. And Jenn was sitting in it. I don't know the relevance, but that's how it was.
You were there, too... sitting in a chair right where the lamp table used to be... the one that housed her 'newfangled' phone with all of its preset speed dial buttons and the safety alert station. I remember how fancy I thought it was... it had probably over 30 numbers programmed into it and at the press of a little grey rubbery button, your call was on its way through. Of course, if you forgot to press the 'shift' button, you'd accidentally call the wrong person... Grammy did that a lot.
I don't remember the context of the scenario... I think Jenn and I were working on some sort of project... but the project didn't matter.
You didn't speak at all the entire time, but you were present. You observed. It was significant somehow.
For a while, everything seemed normal... but then I looked over and you had found a confetti popper--like the ones for the 4th of July--except instead of paper streamers, ornate cut-out snowflakes gleamed down over our heads. It was beautiful. You stared up as they shimmered, marveling at their intricacy.
Even in my dream, I felt the tugging ache of missing you, but I didn't know yet that I already had been. I had this sinking feeling like I was going to lose you soon... so I got up from where I sat and leaned in to wrap my arms around you for a hug... I remember thinking, "I need to hug her all I can now because she won't be here to comfort me like this forever."
I backed up just far enough to see you-- tears welling in your eyes, streaming down your face... like you already knew there wasn't much time...
I wasn't ready for it to end though... I wanted to rest my head on your shoulder and listen to the reassurance of your breaths... to hug you until I felt the safe comfort of simply being near, knowing that everything would be okay because you were still there.
But it was 6 o'clock and the blaring sound of my alarm wrenched me away. I pressed "snooze". I thought that maybe if I closed my eyes again, I could siphon just a few more minutes of time with you--even if just in a dream. It didn't work.I miss you, Mom. Thank you for the hug.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 