Life Without Mother

Dear Mom,

It’s just me, missing you. Well, this week anyway. At this moment the ache isn’t there… though for some reason I’m feeling a bit anxious… perhaps it’s too much coffee today (I had two cups as opposed to my usual one-cup limit).

I wish you were here to call. Or to come visit me. My vivid memory is a blessing and a curse. I can imagine you in any space, how you would interact with any person (whether you’re in a sociable mood or not). Sometimes I fear your voice leaves me, but then I hear it loud and clear in my memories.

I’ll be 24 this year. Sometimes I forget how old I am. (Literally — the other day did a double-take and had to think hard when asked how old I was..) That big 5-year marker has passed. And now it will be six. Life goes on. As the years increase, your death has become more of a mental reference point to my childhood. “That was before Mom died…” “That was after Mom died…” I may not always say it out loud, but it’s there.

Was talking about the inevitability of physical death with someone the other day. I was preparing a lesson plan on the parable of the rich fool for my students. (I remember that always being one of my favorite parables from that old children’s book of parables we had when I was little. The guy had lots of corn and there were crows that perched on his corn and then on the barns he built. The color at the end — when he dies, I guess — was a shadowed navy with a teal tint to it. I always liked the color. Very ominous, but chill.) The whole point of the story is to be prepared for death (since it happens to everyone). To be “rich toward God” rather than storing up perishable things, because eternity is real.

I suppose I could offer you a brief update on life: I still don’t know what I’m doing. (The Lord’s doing that whole wait-until-the-last-possible-moment-to-show-her thing again before He totally does more than I could ask or imagine. So predictable. It’s like He wrote out His plan in this old book or something.) But really, so many options. Would love to stay in New York. This city is the best. But, Chicago is pretty cool, too. (Brytt tries to persuade me toward the latter at every turn. Her new baby is probably the most convincing.) Then, there’s always the option of moving back south to be closer to family. So many options.

Mom, my greatest dream is simply to be married. I wish I could talk to you about it. Dream together. Pray together.

I wish you could meet all of my friends and people. Except for family and two friends from high school, all of the people I’m closest to I met after you died. It’ll probably be the same for that future husband. It’ll definitely be the case for any children I have. They won’t know you. You won’t get to hold them as I saw you do with Hailey.

Oh, man, Mom. Hailey is so big now. You’d be so proud. She reads like nobody’s business and is so grown up. Such a good big sister. Joel and Katie could brag on her even more. Oh, no, don’t get me started on Joel, and Katie, and Hope, and Mary Faith…

Now the tears have started. I’ll wrap up this letter.

Love,
Hannah