Dear Mom,
Five years. Five long, short, devastating, exhilarating, empty, fulfilled, blurry, memorable years without you.
I'll just come right out and say it. Enough with the excuses. It's not that I don't have the time to write, or that I have nothing left to say, or that I've found closure... it's that I honestly can't bring myself to log on anymore. I don't want to talk about your death anymore. I don't want to think about cancer anymore. I don't want to be reminded of life's struggles anymore. I just want to be feel normal; it's been five years! Shouldn't I feel normal again?
I'm frustrated because I know now that I'll never feel like my old self again. My heart will always, always, feel a void. And it breaks me.
I thought finding love would fill me-- and it does-- but then I'm left dreaming of what it would be like to see the two of you getting to know each other, exchanging quick-witted jokes, laughing, and loving me together. I thought moving away would separate me from the hurt, but it only does so in a physical sense, and I'm left missing my family, my old friends, our home, and feeling that closeness to the life we had together.
It's been five freaking years. How did I get here? It's truly such a blur, yet if I had another day with you I could fill it with the most incredible details of the life I've made for myself since the day I lost you.
I think the only thing I've really come to terms with is this:
Those random times I go from laughing to an absolute monumental meltdown; those nights I toss and turn and still recall so vividly the way you smelled and your warmth when you hugged me; those damn episodes of Grey's Anatomy that leave me a sobbing mess on the couch because it triggered a memory; those days I just have absolutely no idea which road is best for me and would give anything to hear your wisdom... Those moments aren't a sign of weakness; I know that now. Instead, those moments are a clear and direct reflection of the utterly amazing woman you were and just hard difficult-- no, impossible-- it's going to be to ever, ever stop missing you.
I love you,
Sami
7/19/1962 - 12/2/2007
