Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

Five years. It’s been five years since I saw your smile. Since you gave me a hug. Since we had a conversation (coincidentally, since we had a chat regarding my most recent analysis — in this case, Wicked, the musical).

I had a truly wonderful birthday yesterday — it may be difficult to top. Reminiscent of how God provided my wonderful college friends to celebrate all day long on that first birthday without you only four years ago, God has provided new friends in my coworkers and church family who have surrounded me with joy and celebration all day (and practically all night) long. Cake and gifts throughout the day, followed by a surprise evening in the city at my favorite NYC restaurant. I was stuffed by the end of the night.

Today was difficult, though. I think not having family around was hard. There were moments I wanted to talk about things, but I didn’t know how to bring it up, or if I should (if it was appropriate or not at work). There was one moment (or maybe a few) I was near tears. But, God brought me through the day. And the night.

I slept over at JoAnn’s. She even had a dear friend of hers coming in that evening for the weekend to visit her, and yet she still invited me over for the night. And what a night it was. We watched a comedy show on Netflix, and I greatly enjoyed not only meeting her friend, but witnessing their friendship. I pray that my college friendships remain as strong as we continue our life journeys.

I’ve labeled this the 100th letter because, technically speaking, it is the 100th letter I’ve officially “sent” to you. (There are a few others I didn’t have the courage to post.) If I had been at all consistent with these letters, I may have reached the 500th by now — or at least the 300th — but, I have only written when inspired or I felt the need. There was a time that I thought I had finished writing these letters. That I would only continue to share my journey through simple prose.

Yet, there is something about the form of writing you that brought comfort. A release of some sort — not holding back what I would say if I could.

I would say I still miss you, but it hurts less often. Sometimes it still hurts just as bad, but even that is not as often.

There are a slew of things I believe is helping in this process. The most effective being the simple fact that God has drawn me nearer to Him than I’ve ever been before. He’s also used wonderful friendships — dear friends, old and new, who stick by me in the moments of darkness and offer to help reignite the fire. And Dad. He’s used Dad and our ever-growing relationship to take away the sting of your absence.

Five years is a long time. I was worried that it would hurt more. (And, to be honest, there were points at which it did.) That it would feel different. And it does. It feels as though a certain finality has finally settled in my heart. It’s bittersweet. A sense of leaving behind and venturing forth. Both hold the promise of hope.

I know I’ll see you again. Whether in five minutes, five months, fifty years — someday I’ll see you again, just as I’ll finally get to see the One whom you told me about every day of our time together. Even the days when one of us or both of us may have failed to live out our faith, our faith remained a testament of His faithfulness in our lives. He was your foundation, and when I think of your legacy, all I remember is your insistence that He be the center of it all. I’m not naive to remember only good, and not the bad, but there is no doubt in my mind — as there hasn’t been since the day you died — that you are in Heaven with our Jesus because you put your whole faith in Him, your heart surrendered completely to His care.

I love you, Mom. I’ll see you, later.

Your daughter,
Hannah