Hey, mom…

Six years ago you were laying on the couch that now sits in my living room. I gave you a hug and told you I was going to hang with Robin for the evening and I would be back the next morning.  And then I told you the thing I thought you knew, but never said:
“You know it’s okay to go, right?”


“I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. You can go.”

“I know, I’m just scared it will hurt.”

Then we cried a little and I gave you a hug and a kiss and left. And the next day, you left too.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. All of the pamphlets tell families to say that. I just kind of thought you knew. We talked about everything else. There were no elephants in the room with us. If I delayed your pain because I never gave you permission….this is a road I probably shouldn’t go down.

Life is going really well for us, mom. Cary is finding his way at work, becoming a great manager and I’m still loving my career. It changes constantly which, as you know, is exactly what I wanted.  We have incredible friends. Sometimes I look at them when we’re gathered together and wish so desperately that you could meet them. You would love them. More importantly, they would love you (especially Kelli, you two would probably be texting each other on a regular basis).

We laugh so much! Thank you for teaching me how important it is to laugh. My life is richer because I surround myself with funny and joyful people. We are also incredibly open about loving each other and I think I have you to thank for that as well.  I don’t ever want them not to know if they are loved. You were very good at making people feel loved, even without saying the words. I think it’s also nice to hear the words. I’m even making new friends. I told Cary that I thought it was lovely that at 31 I can still develop strong friendships with new people. He responded with “You’ll be doing that for the rest of your life, your mom did.”

Random things you used to say pop into my head every now and then. I remember you telling me as a child “Don’t put flowers on my grave, give them to me now, while I can enjoy them!” I’m tempted to buy them constantly, the frugal side of me wins mostly. Cary bought me the most beautiful bouquet for Valentine’s day. When I found out how expensive they were he said “Sometimes you need really expensive flowers.” I thought you would like that.  I also buy Mary flowers for any occasion I can think of, sometimes even if we’re just going over for dinner. They make her so happy.

I’m taking much better care of myself. I’m eating to fuel my body while still enjoying the things that I love. I’m exercising daily and training often. I wish we had figured out how important these things are when you were still around. We would be good workout buddies and you finally would have had an ass because, seriously mom, SQUATS are amazing!

Still no babies, mom. Everything they can test has come back “normal”. There’s no conclusive reason as to why we can’t conceive and yet…no babies. The whole process has helped us realize that while we know quite a bit about the body, we seem to know jack shit about reproduction. I’m using the “royal ‘we'” I mean society in general, not Cary and I. We know about as much (probably more) as everyone else that is not a medical professional. There are times in our life when I’m so thankful we don’t have children. I’m thrilled that I’m not identified as “Jimmy’s mom” it was bad enough being “Cary’s girlfriend”. I enjoy having an independent identity. I love our current lifestyle and our animals. Most days I can convince myself that our family of 2 (or 7 if you count the pets) is enough. But then I’ll hear about someone being pregnant or smell the top of a baby’s head and I revert back to the desperation of wanting my own. Sometimes I think it’s easier that you’re not here for this disappointment. Then I think having your support would make it easier. Then I realize it doesn’t really matter because you’re dead (Laugh with me, mom. I just added that to make people uncomfortable)

I’m sure I could ramble on and on, but this sums things up nicely for now. I miss you. I still have those moments when I want my mommy. Typically when I’m sick or tragedy strikes, I’ll have a moment where all I can think of is how nice it would be to have you rub my back and stroke my hair and let me cry. Cary does this for me instead. It’s lovely, but not the same. He misses you too.

I’m doing my best to make you proud.

I love you,