You were Truly Wonderful
Originally written Monday, April 27, 2015
I haven’t written in a while—week before last doesn’t really count, does it? Probably not since I was writing to tell you that I didn’t want to write. But the thing is if you were here you’d appreciate that. You were always the best at letting me say what I needed to say. And I don’t mean that you let me use you as an emotional punching bag (although that did happen—especially during my teenage years). I mean that you encouraged me to say how I was feeling, to tell you and whoever else needed to be told what was on my mind. I’m still learning to do that instead of constantly overcommitting myself, nodding my head to be polite or not really speaking up when something hurts my feelings. Dad and Austin would disagree—I guess I’ve got the “say what’s on my mind” thing down with them.
We went to Amelia Island this past weekend. It was great and terrible all at the same time. Mom, I hate that you have stolen my ability to enjoy time with my Dad and brother. It’s so painful without you there. It’s so obvious when the three of us are together that you’re missing. The hole is just too big not to ache with a special ache that comes from realizing we’re a different family without you. We’re the same, but different. Didn’t you know we needed you? We needed you to plan—Austin says I’m not a good planner. That sounds shallow. It’s just we needed you and your love, and I thought we gave our love back to you. Did we not? Did you not know that you were our pillar of love and beauty in this family—you and Dad both.
Now, it’s just him. And he’s great—you know that. I could write a book about how wonderful he is, and he keeps this family strong. But it isn’t the same. Mom, you were radiant. Your love shone so bright. God’s love radiated through you, and I don’t know where that light dimmed but I’m so sorry I didn’t see it. At least not like I should have. I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I just want you to know that you were truly wonderful. There will never be another like you, and I do thank God for you. I would never want another Mother. Even if I had to relive life exactly this way over and over again, I’d want you. You are loved, Mom.
Austin and I sat and cried together Thursday night. The one-year mark for Scott is coming up, and we just cried. We talked about Scott, we talked about depression, and we talked about you— although Austin kind of talks more about the depression than you. He hurts so badly, and I can’t help him. I know you wanted to put your arms around us, and kiss our faces. We miss you. You are loved, Mom. Always, you are loved. Please help me have peace—I need to know that you knew in some way that you were loved in your final days.