Dear Mom,
I haven't stopped wishing you were here. And I know that's selfish, but looking back through our last messages has me feeling like I lost you all over again. Except the grief isn't the same. It's still raw, but without the denial.
I should probably take comfort in knowing I can talk to God about all of the things I still want to tell you... I feel like I'm in a conference call with Him when I write to you... He knows it all... down to how many tears I've cried missing you and the ones that were over other things. I'm just a person... one who cries a lot, apparently. You didn't though. Cry a lot, I mean... at least not that I ever saw.
I couldn't sleep... there's too much on my mind... and I know you'd tell me first to cast my cares... and I do, mostly... but sometimes a stray one slips through... and sometimes my fickle heart reels a few back. I'm a person.
I hadn't looked at our conversations here in a while... or maybe not as far back as I did today... and I just felt so ashamed. I was so wrapped up in something I was going through back then that seemed so hopeless at the time that I didn't even notice the change in your replies.
Your usual lengthy, thorough responses dwindling down to sentence fragments and stray emojis as the days went on... and I just kept going on about my problems... oblivious to yours... and that huge situation in my life... the one I was messaging about so much during your last weeks... it doesn't even matter anymore. It's irrelevant... I didn't know I was wasting our time together because I didn't think we were going to lose you. I trusted that we had more of it together.
...and then I get to thinking that if I'd have just listened and casted my cares from the start, I wouldn't have been too blinded by the overwhelm of my own life to ask you more about yours. And we'd have fonder conversations to remember... but that's selfish, too... because you don't need to remember them... I do.
I know I can't change it. The outcome. And I know that I should learn from it... but here I am again... wishing I could talk to you about my life. Not that I'd have called you at 1 in the morning anyway... but somehow just knowing I had the option to was reassurance enough.
So I'll close my eyes, work harder on casting my cares (1 Peter 5:7) without reeling them back in, and wake up with more answers than I had when I fell asleep.
I'm sorry for the times I took you for granted... I don't anymore... because I can't.
I miss you something terrible, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
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,
You crossed my mind again today... as if there is ever a day when you don't. Maybe it was because of the dream I had last night... maybe it was because I remembered back to this time two years ago and how different my life was... how different I was.
I wouldn't have thought I'd be here, living in South Carolina of all the seemingly random places... in Charleston... like the dance move you showed me during spring cleaning when I made that silly video of you and I laughed saying, "well I've never been there, so I doubt I'll ever need to know this dance". But here I am... married to my childhood sweetheart, blessed with three daughters... living in Charleston, South Carolina of all places.
And while so much has changed over these past couple years, there are parts that stayed the same... like this song from the CD you gave me because you said the album made you think of me and what I was going through during that worrisome period of my life. And my need to remind myself daily to cast my cares and lay them all down at His feet... instead of stubbornly thinking that I can do it all on my own... and failing on my own.
Thank you for the songs... and thank you for the lessons. I paid attention more than you thought... and I'm happy you taught me the Charleston dance. 💜
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,
We visited you today; it was my first time since the funeral... and Norah Jane's first ever... outside of the womb, at least. The girls would have loved to have been there too, but you know how summers go. They miss you a lot. We all do.
I know that we don't need to be at the cemetery to talk to you. But in a way, just being there makes you feel closer. Or maybe it makes me feel closer to you.
Could you hear your little namesake babbling half-words as she reached her hand toward the roses Dad lovingly arranged in front of your headstone? I could almost hear the wind carry your motherly whisper to caution her fragile fingertips away from the thorns. We had a moment... or few.
If I could've stayed longer, I'd have shared more... reminisced more... confided more... we have so much to talk about. A little girl never stops needing her Momma even when that girl stops being so little anymore.
It was nice to 'see' you... if only for a little while so the Janes could 'meet'. ♡
I miss you, Mom.
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,
I didn't make Easter baskets this year. I didn't want to. The girls already have so much--so many lovely things... we've truly all been blessed in so many ways.
Aria even said to tell the Easter Bunny that he can skip over our house so that he has extra to share with other kids who might need the surprises more. You'd have been proud. I was.
She added that she didn't think Norah Jane would mind either since she's "too little to eat candy and doesn't have any teeth yet".
Speaking of the baby, I know there have been a lot of changes since she was born--and although the older two understand the need to share their time with me, I still want to make sure they know that their importance doesn't diminish... their place in my life isn't any less prominent because there's one more to share my triply-expanded heart with.
I remember the little notes you'd leave for Jenn, Tris, and I with "token gifts" as you'd call them... and how you always seemed to know how to make a single item mean so much more than any room filled with presents ever could. A musical snow globe... a stuffed giraffe plush that could fit into the palm of my hand... a hand-written letter, or a simple candy cane ornament.
It was your heart... the love woven into every aspect of you being our Mom.
I thought about it, but I didn't make any Easter baskets this year. Instead, I purchased 2 empty books with delicately decorated pages and penned a letter in each--hopefully the first of many.
The girls are growing up so fast and I never want to miss out on our time together... you've taught me how precious it truly is... and how fleeting.
I still cherish our letters to each other, me and you... except now, tears accompany the smiles as I read.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"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 