Corniche Beach - Abu Dhabi

Corniche Beach - Abu Dhabi

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Dear Mom: A Letter You'll Never Read

Time can be unpredictable. Often, that fateful day seems like it happened mere weeks ago, the pain burns so intensely. But, in some instances, as I ponder the passage of time since your loss, I'm shocked to realize that just over four months have gone by. Just as experienced grievers promised, life does go on. My instinct is to feel guilt when I suddenly realize we're carrying on with some of your favorite things...without you there. The truth is, nothing is the same. And it never will be. But we're learning to adjust, and we're persevering.

Holidays are easily the most painful experiences without you. I just...I thought we'd have more. I never could have known that Dalila's first Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthday would also be her last Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and birthday with her Grandma. We've spent three full years away from you for all of the major milestones, knowing we would eventually return and pick up our favorite traditions where we left off. But now, that's impossible, and the ache for the things that will never be is sharp and constant. Capri will never spend a holiday with her Grandma.

Somehow, we struggle through the pain, and we manage to smile and even experience some joy. Halloween and Thanksgiving were spent as a tight-knit group of family. My sisters and I have miraculously managed to strengthen our already deep connection and take turns supporting one another as difficult days come and go for each of us. As we hurt together, we somehow heal together. We make certain your grandchildren know how much you loved them and how much family means.

One of the many difficulties now lies in the memories themselves. How can they be fading already? There is so much I want to recall, but I feel certain details beginning to slip. My over-worked mind struggles to harness every last bit of a particular image of you but the edges of that once crystal-clear picture threaten to sneak away in wispy tendrils, leaving a grainy impression. I want to always remember your laugh and your smell, but I worry those will slip, too.

Now, with Christmas just days away, we wonder how we can cope without you. My sisters and I are adamant about hanging on to some of your favorite traditions: pizza, Christmas lights, and new jammies on Christmas Eve. And we're trying some new things, forging our own traditions in an effort to find our way through your absence. We're grateful for the unbreakable bond you instilled in us as sisters and know we'd be lost without each other and our own families we built with your guidance and support.

I know many will assure me that you are "always here" with us. In a way, I know this is true. Your spirit will never leave and your presence can be felt in so many aspects of our lives. But I wish you were HERE. And I always will.

Merry Christmas, Mom. We love you forever.


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