Five Years: How Did I Get Here?

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

Over the Hill?!

Dear Mom,

I thought I'd break my unintentional silence to wish you the happiest of birthdays this morning. Somewhere, in some way, you are celebrating your 50th year of a wonderful life that we all know was cut much too short. Is this the age they say you're 'Over the Hill'? Well, I certainly wish you were merely that far away from me.

A few months ago I drove the 8 hours home to Maine with my boyfriend to throw Dad a 50th surprise birthday party-- Harley Davidson themed, of course. And yes, I even tucked away my button-up sweaters and skinny-leg jeans for a night of bandanas, leather boots, and homemade ass-less chaps (and they say being in a sorority doesn't teach you anything?!). It was the best birthday party he said he ever had, complete with a video slideshow I made him to play at the local little bar we held it at that was always your favorite. The photos that reminded us that we used to be captured as a family of four had even my old high school friends tearing up, but I was smart to put it to "Sweet Child of Mine"-- who can cry during that anyway?! Weirdos.

Today I woke up wondering what we'd be doing to celebrate your 50th. I'm pretty sure you'd already be putting on that oh so up-to-date flowery one-piece bathing suit, grabbing a glass of caffeine-free diet Pepsi, and heading out to the pool with your sunglasses and whatever book was next on your chopping block. They better have that set up in Heaven for you; I think you've earned it.

Dad's love for motorcycles has only continued to grow over the years as his love for playing pool has lessened. What would you love even more today? Maybe cooking? Scrap booking? A Harley of your own?

The only answer I know would be true is... me. You would love me even more today.

I miss that love. I miss you.

But I am okay, I promise.

I am happy, but you see that, wherever you're watching me from.

But stop watching me today-- it's your day-- LET'S PARTY!

Happy 50th Mom.

I love you,
Sami

I'm Not In Kansas Anymore

Dear Mom,

Not that I ever was in Kansas...but I'm not in Maine anymore either!

I hardly had time to hit the publish button on my last post before I was packing my bags and visiting my boyfriend. I went down to see him with no return date in mind, and actually ended up not coming home at all except for Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was spontaneous and absolutely crazy, but, three months later, I find more and more reasons to be happy every day.

Going from long distance to no distance was an easier transition than either of us thought. After only three months of knowing each other, taking a "leap of faith" was a complete understatement. Regardless, we went for it. Moving in together so quickly was a 100% make it or break it kind of thing, and surprisingly, I feel like I've been here with him for years. I can't wait to be.

Looking back on it, I can't explain why on Earth I even thought this was a good decision in the first place-- it was so reckless and unlike me-- but it just felt right. And it continues to feel that way. Sure, we've had our arguements; we've learned what it's like to see each other every day rather than to just talk constantly over the phone; we've had to make adjustments to help make our lives mesh. But like I said, I'm happy, and the only times I really cry are when I take a look at my life and wish so badly you were enjoying it with me. Will that pain ever go away?

As for my new job, new friends, this new place, etc.? There's more information to come. Hold tight!

I love you,
Sami

Many Milestones

Dear Mom,

Lease my apartment: check.
Quit my job: check.
Move back to my hometown: check.
Get a boyfriend: check, baby!

Guess which life change I am most excited to tell you about? Four guesses.

Okay, yes, I have a boyfriend! Can you tell I'm your daughter? All of a sudden I had the biggest realization that it's not what I'm doing, but who I'm doing it with that truly makes me the happiest. And to be honest, my new boyfriend is exactly what prompted me to make all these recent life changes and decisions.

I know you're dying for details, so let me back it up a little bit.

Long story short (when are they ever?), the day after I wrote the post about meeting my fair share of losers, Dad invited me to a 4th of July BBQ back home at his friend's house. He's asked me to go to this annual party for the past three years, but I've always declined for whatever reason. This year I finally caved and made an appearance. About an hour into the party, I stopped dead in my tracks at the first sight of him and said out loud, "I need to meet him." Within 10 minutes, that's exactly what I did, and we haven't missed a beat in three months. It was the weirdest thing, but I was immediately overcome with this crazy feeling that I was looking at the person I've always visualized myself being with, even though I had never seen this guy before. And not to jump the gun or anything, but the instant connection we had that continues to grow each day is telling me that my gut instinct may have been correct.

Dad has known him for quite a while and definitely approves (such a plus by the way; we got to avoid the awkward father/daughter discussion about me being in a relationship with some guy he doesn't know-- you were always my go-to gal for that!). He is the nephew of Dad's friend, and by chance was in town visiting his family after being deployed to Iraq for the third time. He's in the army and stationed elsewhere, so our relationship consists of monthly visits and hours on the phone every day having some of the greatest conversations I've ever had... siiiighhhh... I'm such a girl. I'm completely smitten. It's kind of sickening and completely fabulous at the same time. I am so happy and I am finally allowing myself to be vulnerable and fully let someone into my life. It's scary because nothing is ever for certain, but at least I know now the kind of genuine, funny, caring, appreciative man I am deserving of does exist and can feel the same way towards me.

And the best part is: he asks about you. When he visits, he invites Dad to come do stuff with us; he brings me to his parents' so I can get to know them too. He's shown me just how important it is to surround yourself with the people who make you happy, and that's why I moved home. I didn't feel good about where I was, but now I finally feel great about where I'm going. Where exactly? Well, that's TBD... but for now, it's in the house that you spent 19 years with me in teaching me what's truly important in life: family, friends, and love.

I love you,
Sami

Friday Mourning

Dear Mom,

Whenever I'm feeling upset, I remind myself repeatedly that, no matter what I'm crying over, I went through worse when I lost you. Typically that is enough to help me snap out of my funk, but of course there are those times where the only remedy seems to be a box of tissues and my comfiest PJs.

And that was exactly the kind of day I had last Friday.

I've been so focused on getting my new, single, fabulous little life figured out during these past few months, and in an instant I realized that I have absolutely no clue why I am where I am, doing what I'm doing, and feeling how I'm feeling. The only thing I wanted to do was curl up on the couch next to you while you played with my hair like you did when I was little, and knowing that the one thing I wanted was also the one thing that definitely wasn't going to happen only added to my heavy heart that day.

I've been sick for about a week (how is it that my body fights viruses like a champ during Maine winters, but can't handle a few months of 90+ degree weather?), so that didn't help my mood. I was at work for less than 30 minutes when I decided there was no way I could make it through the day in one piece and needed to get out of there immediately. One look at my manager-- who is just as caring and approachable as you... AND shares your name, ironically-- and I was one hot mess. I told her how much I just miss your advice and how much I wish I could hear it now. She suggested that I write you a letter, read it out loud, and wait for the answers to eventually show themselves to me. Little did she know that writing letters used to be our thing, and, through my blog, still is. It was just what I needed to hear.

I got in my car and drove 2.5 hours to the cemetery. I know that technically you aren't there, but for some reason I found comfort in sitting beside where your body is resting. While I was there, I finally allowed myself to let it all go. I am so confused. Why am I living in the area that I am right now? I came here for college, that is over. I stayed for a relationship, and that is over too. My closest friends have all moved away and have started their lives; why haven't I done the same? What am I waiting for? My job here isn't my dream job, and frankly the only reason I look forward to going in is because my co-workers are so great, but is that enough to keep me here? Not in the least.

I had a long talk with Dad that night and have decided that I'm moving home. I'm giving myself the next month to figure out the logistics of this next step. I'll have to look for a new job, find someone to lease my apartment, etc. I feel relief knowing that I am finally closing this chapter in my life and moving forward, but at the same time, I'm wondering how I will adjust to life in that area after being on my own for five years. How will it feel to live, for the first time, in the house you died in? How will it feel to wake up every morning in the home we spent 19 wonderful years in together and walk downstairs and not see your smile? I'm nervous for it, but ready somehow. It is time. And at the end of the day, I know I'll be alright because I went through worse when I lost you.

Love,
Sami

Revisiting a Rocky Road

Dear Mom,

In honor of a dear friend of mine who has recently decided to seek out the help of a therapist, I'm re-posting a guest post I wrote for Nancy's Point reflecting on my own experience with a counselor. To know that I even gave my friend the tiniest bit of encouragement to finally reach out for guidance during her time of need is the best feeling. But even so, it's not about me, it's about her. And I am so proud of her for taking this step. 

I'm a little emotional today as I reread it. I'm in a good place now, but remembering where I've been is just plain bittersweet. My heart used to be so heavy, and it's tough to revisit the broken girl I used to be and reflect on what brought me there... since learning to live without you is what brought me there. I never thought I could smile again and move forward without that intense feeling of guilt suffocating me. But, here I am. I'm doing it. We aren't meant to go through this life alone, and regardless of where you are today, I still feel you right beside me, moving forward together.

I love you,

Sami

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Shrinking My Grief

Dear Mom,

When the day came that I consciously made the decision to not get out of bed, to skip my two college classes that morning, to just lay there staring up at the ceiling that I felt was closing in on me, that’s when I realized I couldn’t do this alone. It usually takes weeks to get in to see our university’s therapist, but after hearing of my circumstances from the Assistant Dean of our campus, she agreed to see me that same week.

To me, there were few things more embarrassing than parking my well-known, dark green Toyota Echo plastered with a giant sorority sticker on the back windshield outside of the counseling building, so naturally, I parked further away and trudged through the snow, ice, and subzero temperatures to be sure not to tarnish my seemingly ‘put together’ reputation. I probably looked like I was about to rob a bank or something since I looked over my shoulder repeatedly on my way in with my hands shoved deep in my pockets and only my eyes peaking out over the collar of my winter trench coat. No one would know I was here; not if I could help it.

Of course, there were other students in the waiting room. I kept my head down and pretended to read a magazine, meanwhile internally thanking you for all the carrots you made me eat as I put my excellent peripheral vision to the test to scope out the girl next to me. Her wrists showed no signs of any cut marks; she wasn’t talking to herself; she didn’t scream at me for accidentally sitting on her imaginary best friend. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this girl was kind of  normal. She was kind of like… me. Well, at least the me that I had been before I made this appointment. Now I was a basket-case, shuddering with nerves every few seconds and fidgeting with a wad of tissues that were damp from my tears on the car ride over. If anything, I looked like the crazy one sitting in that room. Awesome.

When the secretary called my name, I looked up and locked eyes with the woman who was about to change my life. Her name was April, and she was going to help and heal me for the next four months until I was on my own for summer vacation. Once we made it into her office, I hardly had time to spit out my name before the dampened, crumpled up tissues in my hand were catching more tears. She handed me a box of tissues, and even used some herself, as we spent the next hour talking about your life and eventual death.

Over the next couple of months I worked through my most painful memories with April. She didn’t say any magic words that made them go away; she just listened. I told her everything that haunted me at night when I tried to sleep: the night you told me you were dying; the sound of your breathing while you slept that reminded me your body was shutting down; the way your cold, stiff forehead felt against my lips when I kissed you goodbye for the final time in your casket; how, after they closed the lid to lock you in that box forever, I threw my body across it and sobbed in front of everyone at the cemetery. I told her everything. And even without any resolution– just knowing I could say it and not carry it alone– it felt good. I felt good.

Eventually, the only time I cried most weeks was during the hour I set aside on Wednesdays to sit with April. I figured that she either sliced onions and rubbed them all over the chair I sat in and the tissues she gave me, or she actually created a safe haven for me where I was comfortable enough to let my guard down and allow myself to be the heartbroken, fragile, emotional girl that I so desperately wanted to hide from the world.

And as quickly as our sessions began, they were over. Walking in that afternoon, I didn’t know it was going to be my last visit with April, but as I sat there silence, fishing for something to talk about, we both realized it was time to part ways. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel sad leaving her office for the last time, even though I knew I would never see her again. I was happy that she showed me that I had the tools to heal myself, and that at that time next week, someone else was going to be filling my time slot and taking the first step in mending his or her own life too.

Initially, I was ashamed to admit that I could benefit from professional help, but now, three years later, I am proud to say that I had the courage to seek it. Therapy gave me my life back. April explained to me, in the most subtle of ways, that grieving takes time, and a whole lot of it, so there was no need to be so hard on myself. And that pushing the painful memories out of my head, opposed to dealing with them, only hinders my ability to move forward in a healthy way. With her help, I realized I had the strength and ability inside myself to get through this without the pain, the hauntings images, and the missing you taking over my everyday life. After only about a dozen visits with April, I have never felt the need to go back.

Eventually, I opened up about my experience to a friend whom I thought could benefit from hearing it. She responded, “Yeahhh… I’m all set with paying someone to listen to my issues.” I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I instantly regretted ever letting her into that part of my life. I was brought back to my first day in the waiting room when I was embarrassed to even be associated with that place as my friend tactlessly reminded me that there is that stigma attached to the mental state of someone who sees a therapist… even if that person is your friend, apparently. I am not– nor was I ever– crazy, but I did need someone to remind me that I was somehow going to get through that very dark time. I think most people could use that reminder at least once in their lives. So, I’ve chosen to not let her words, or anyone else’s, make me feel ashamed anymore, because, you know what? Sometimes, the best things in life aren’t free: like a roof over your head, food on the table, an oncologist working to save your mom’s life, and a damn good shrink.

Love,

Sami

My Mother's Garden

My Mother's Garden

My Mother kept a garden,
a garden of the heart,

She planted all the good things

that gave my life it's start.

She turned me to the sunshine

and encouraged me to dream,

Fostering and nurturing

the seeds of self-esteem.

And when the winds and rain came,

she protected me enough--

But not too much because she knew

I'd need to stand up strong and tough.

Her constant good example

always taught me right from wrong--

Markers for my pathway

that will last a lifetime long.

I am my Mother's garden.

I am her legacy,

And I hope today she feels the love

reflected back from me.

-Author Unknown

Happy 49th birthday Mama Bear. I'll love you always.

Love,

Sami