Dear Mom:
I just wanted to
tell you I miss you. I miss calling you and getting the
recipe for
the ham and cheese casserole. I miss seeing your smiling face
when
I would come over to visit you. People from your book groups
still
tell me how much they miss your insights and wisdom. People
at church tell
me they miss seeing you every week.
Most of
all, Dad misses you. He has been a crying mess since you left.
He
cries whenever your name comes up. This from a tough
businessman Dad who
never used to cry. I asked Dad recently what
he enjoys doing the most. With
teary eyes, he said, "Thinking
about Mom." Now that Dad is on his own
deathbed, he has
seemed more peaceful. I think he is looking forward to
seeing
someone he has loved and been married to for 48 years now. He was
a
wreck last year celebrating your anniversary without you.
You
were always there for me at basketball, football games, choir
concerts,
etc. I remember being 13 and thinking, "I have the
coolest Mom in the
world! She is a sports nut! She loves going to
football, baseball and
basketball games and she even watches them
on TV sometimes!" When I got to
be 19 and in college out of
state, I remember asking you about the Blazers.
You had no clue
how they were doing and then it all hit me like a ton of
bricks.
You cared about sports as much as I care about playing dolls with
my
daughters. But if you ask me the names of my daughters' dolls, I
could
tell you every one of them. I'm sure you are proud of me.
I
remember holding your hand on your deathbed last year and looking at
your
angelic face. I thanked you for always being there for me and
I spent about
an hour telling you how much your presence and
support meant over the
years. You were a stay at home Mom and all
you cared about was our family.
I didn't know it at the time, but
I always had my own one person fan club.
The fascinating thing
to me is that you treated all nine of us like we were
always the
special one. I always got all the attention from you that I
needed.
On the day you died, my brother Bill said that he thought he
was
always your favorite son. Then my brother Rob corrected him
and said he
thought he was your favorite. Then we figured out that
you loved all of us
the "most" in an unconditional
way.
I miss that my children will never really know you.
Little Jessie is three
now and when we drove by the hospital last
week that you died at, she said,
"That's where Grandma Judy
lives." I am sad that you won't be able to teach
any of my
children how to play the piano. I'm sad that you won't be able
to
come to my kids' schools on "Grandparents Day." But I
will be always be
able to tell my girls how much Grandma Judy
loved seeing them.
As you know, Amanda (my wife) will be
having our third next month. We're
having a boy this time. I'm
sure that you know him well and that this baby
will let us know
how much you love and miss us.
Mom, carrying your casket up
that hill on that rainy windy day last year
was so ironic. Here
were these seven large (we're all between 6' and 6'4)
grown men
carrying the casket of their beloved Mother. After all, it was
you
who first carried each of us and then carried us so many
times
throughout our lives.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Love,
your son, Craig
*This was a letter my husband, Craig, wrote in May 2001 for a contest on the radio. His mother had died 2 years earlier of breast cancer. He won front row tickets to a concert at the Rose Garden...I can't even remember who the singer was. I was 8 months pregnant, so I guess my brain wasn't fully functioning. Judy has been gone for 12 years and we still miss her.
