A Letter to My Mom

on Mother’s Day

“However time or circumstance

May come between a mother and her child,

Their lives are interwoven forever.”

Pam Brown

Every day is difficult without you, your birthday, my birthday just isn’t the same without you but Mother’s Day is the worst.

Mom, I miss your smile, I miss our long talks.

I miss calling you on the phone and hear you say,

“I was just thinking about you and was going to call”

A lot has happened since you left us. I was so sick with pneumonia, that was the worst I ever felt. And the first time you weren’t here to take care of me. Mom, I felt so alone, I wanted to die myself.

I survived the Great Recession; I lost my job. I filed for bankruptcy, I tried to make things work — my heart just wasn’t in it. Jessica left to go live with her dad, I was devastated. I later lost my house; it just wasn’t worth the fight anymore.

I cried out to God, “I can’t take anymore, I can’t do this on my own.”

Mom, I got a call from an acquaintance and she had a job in a warehouse, it was mine if I want it.

“YES!” Eight months of unemployment and I’m working again. I was under-employed, but I had benefits again.

Mom, I met a great guy, you’d like him. We’ve worked hard at building a relationship and a life together. Dad died less than two years after you did Mom, I wish you both were at my wedding.

Jessica and I have a good relationship now Mom. She regrets the last time she saw you, she remembers she wasn’t very nice to you. I told her you know she loved you. How many kids have their own bedroom at their grandparents’ house? I should have kept the dollhouse and her bedspread from her room.

I wish I could have kept your dining room furniture, I know how much you enjoyed it. When we sold the house, it was like you died all over again. Mom, I took pictures of each of the rooms to remember our home. Someone bought the house and flipped it, you wouldn’t recognize it.

We found a home for Bindi, I know she was your favorite. Buddy and Sissy went to Helping Paws Pet Haven I asked about them at the Pet Expo a few years ago. The director remembered them right away! Buddy was adopted, and Sissy died there a few years ago.

Mom, I started experiencing pain in my hands and feet as you did. Do you remember the rash you would get on your face after working out in the sun? I get that too.

It was a struggle to determine what was wrong with me; it was awful working while I was going through this. My supervisors weren’t understanding, they actually made it more difficult for me. They complained about all my doctor’s appointments — even changing the time off policy. I had to get intermittent FMLA to protect me when I was sick from the medicine.

After my foot surgery, I knew I had to return to an office position. I couldn’t handle the physical work any longer. The long hours are still tough, but I make it work.

Mom, I found out I have Lupus — and I’m sure you did too. I remember complaining to you that you’re always sick, and now I know how you felt. Lupus explains all the hair loss, pneumonia, fatigue, and of course the pain.

Brandon is a fine young man now, Mom and he lives in Tampa. He’s engaged to a wonderful girl, you’d like her she’s an artist. I wish you could be at the wedding.

I have a new house now, and we just love this place. It reminds me of home, although it’s a single story. Much easier for me since stairs are a struggle.

Susie has four grandchildren now, but Gabriel is in Heaven too. Mom, I’m a grandma too, can you believe it? I have three beautiful grandchildren. Jordan is the oldest and he has his own room here.

I brought your silver out today and Jordan was right there wanting to see. I explained this was my mother’s silver and now its mine.

“It’s all right, you can touch it,” I told him.

He asked where you were, and I told him you left us and you’re in Heaven now.

“Do you want to see her picture?” He nodded yes.

“This is my mommy.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her heart stopped honey.”

I want our grandchildren to know where they came from. I want them to know our story, I remember asking you to “write it down.”

“You write it for me,” was always your answer.

I’m trying Mom, I’m trying to remember everything. I’ve learned so much about the war and your childhood and why you left Hungary. I’m writing it down, I’m writing your story.

I wish I could call you now and wish you “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom I love you.”