Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

I was going to write last night but obviously fell asleep before I could get to it. For good reason though—I did drive 12 hours in the last 48 hours. But a short trip to Arkansas to see my best friend is so worth it. And was so needed. She knows me better than anyone else on this earth and it’s nice to have that security of being around someone you don’t have to fear offending or that they would judge you for your childish antics when it gets late.
The drive was so long last night. I went through six or seven CDs (and one of them twice). But my favorite part was the home stretch of 56 miles or so when I just stayed on the same road until I got home. I turned down the stereo and said, “Alright, God. Let’s talk.” And I proceeded to pray for all of my friends—specific prayers, and general prayers of blessing—and then for family—particularly the girls—and finally I just let words flow from my heart concerning how I was doing. I’ll be honest, in that moment, I wasn’t doing too great. It hurts that while I’m growing in my relationship with the Lord as He’s revealing new things to me everyday that are improving my relationships and my focus/perspective, I can’t tell you all about it. As I’m making these new wonderful friendships and meeting their parents, I’ll never get to introduce them to you. Yes, they’ll get to meet Dad, but they’ll never see the reason for the other half of me.
Don’t get me wrong, God has shown and taught me some amazing things in the past year, and I know that I’d never truly want things differently because I know that you are way happier now than you ever were and all of the good things that have come from this situation are blessings beyond the mere comfort of having my mom here. But then there are those moments when the little blue-eyed, button-nosed, bald-top come out in me and I just want my mommy. I want her to hold me, to tell me what to do, to listen while I rant, to share the many things God is doing and showing me, to tell me she loves me and she’s proud of me.
It’s getting harder as that day approaches. When it will be a year since you went Home. I wrote you a song and I can’t wait to sing it for you in front of the family. I think you would have liked it. I think you would have liked all of my songs. Knowing that is hard too. You were always my biggest supporter. You read everything I wrote and always told me what you thought of it. You listened to me sing my heart out and smiled and told me how much you loved listening to me sing. It brought you joy, even if you didn’t always care for the song (some were just too much rock or rap for you). Now I’ve put the two together and I can’t show you.
Ugh Hannah, pull yourself together. I always get so depressing like I just want to bask in my sorrows. I promise I’m not always like this Mom. There have been many joy-filled times throughout. For some reason I just tend to write about the more melancholy moments.
Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. I love you, Mom.

Your daughter,
Hannah