A Letter to My Mom - No. 1

I told myself that the next time I stepped back into social media, it would be to tell you all the things I can no longer say. Death, as a concept, isn’t foreign to me, but you are my first true loss. My biggest loss.

I wish so badly that I could rewind time. I wish I hadn’t been so consumed with trivial things in those final days. If only I had known they were your last. When I look back, my heart breaks knowing that I would have dropped everything if only I had known what was coming - not because I didn’t know how much you meant to me, but because I took for granted that there would be another tomorrow.

I’ll carry the memory of those last days with me forever, on an endless loop. A painful reminder of how I never got to say goodbye to the person who loved me unconditionally. My best friend. My problem solver. My favorite person. The one I would just call to say I had nothing to talk about. My biggest fan. My teammate. My mom.

I’m so grateful that I made it home when I did, so that I could see you one final time. Even though you couldn’t see me or speak to me, I got to hold your hand and tell you I was home, that I was sorry, and that you were my entire world, and so much more. Stormi was there too, and she loved you so much.

There will always be a before you and an after you.

. . .

My life has shifted so drastically since you left. Every change I make, everything I let go of, is in honor of the version of myself you always believed in. Moving forward, every step I take, every crossroad I choose, every milestone I reach is dedicated entirely to you.

I carry your presence with me always. In every butterfly, every grasshopper, every sudden rainbow, every gentle breeze, or unexpected rain. Every time I see the sun peak out from behind the clouds, I say, “Hi, my mom.” I promise never to stop doing that. Because if I believe it is you checking in on me, how could it be anything else?

Thank you for leaving me that voicemail all those years ago. I found a way to permanently save the file so it can never be lost, and I listen to it whenever I need to hear you call my name or just hear your voice.

Thank you, too, for the card and the box you sent in the mail. You asked me not to open them until you could watch me do it over FaceTime. They still sit there, untouched. Not because I’m waiting for a call I know will never come, but because as long as they stay there unopened, I still have one last thing from you.

I’m not sure I’ll ever open them. How does someone open a gift from their mom, knowing it is the last one they will ever receive?

. . .

I only hope I am making you proud. Some days I feel strong, and other days I can’t function. You used to be just a phone call away. When you missed a single call from me eighteen years ago during Basic Training, you talked about the guilt you felt, promising to always be there when the phone rang. And you always were.

There are still moments when I reach for my phone because I still need you. There are times I actually dial your number and just let the line ring out, because the illusion feels so safe. Like maybe you’re just washing the dishes.

But please know that I am trying. I’m trying to build a life that would make you smile - a life filled with the kind of moments that would make you want to pull out your phone to take all the pictures, in the way you loved to do. Don’t worry; I will take the photos for you now. I will go to all the places you never got to see. You just got your passport in the mail and never had the chance to use it. So, I will go and see the world for you, explore every corner, eat all of the food, collect every memory, and you will be right there with me.

. . .

As for your daughters, we are all navigating this grief in our own ways, but know that Rachel, Honey, and I will stay closer than ever. And your siblings would make you so proud with how often they have checked in on us, being there on the days that are a bit too heavy.

I will never stop thinking of you. I will carry you with me always, everywhere I go. Forever. Thank you for loving me and thank you for being the best mom a girl could ask for.

This is just the first of many letters I promise to write to you in the spaces between.

And this isn’t goodbye, just an “I can’t wait to see you later.”

“Call you in 5…”

<3 Your Angie