There are days when it feels like it’s been an eternity since you left this world, despite the 11 years that have come and gone without you. Other times, it feels like just yesterday when I heard the nurse in her teal scrubs deliver the words that still linger in my mind: “She’s gone.” In that moment, you crossed a line that I could never follow, and with you went my final opportunities to express all the things I left unsaid.
I know you always perceived me as a daddy’s girl, but that changed when high school began. You were unaware of this shift, and it unfolded so seamlessly that I never admitted it. You were my anchor during those formative years, and the line between mother and confidante blurred. I never told you this, but you weren’t just my mother—you were my closest friend. Not my friends from school, but you. You were the one I went shopping with, the one I skipped school with, and the one I created spirit gear with. It was always you, Mom. No one could ever fill the space you left behind in my heart.
Do you remember those nights in middle school when I begged to spend the night at my friends’ houses? You thought it was because I was embarrassed of our home or ashamed of you because of your illness. I insisted that wasn’t the case, but I never explained how deeply mistaken you were. I could never feel ashamed of you. Your illness was part of your journey, but it never defined you. You lived with grace in the face of pain, showing love in the midst of sorrow. Even as your physical self diminished, your spirit soared. I just wish I could have told you how proud I was.
I noticed every sacrifice you made, even if I didn’t voice it. You wore clothes that were past their prime just so I could have new outfits. You let me go out with friends, using spare change you found around the house, never wanting me to miss opportunities. You took me to games and stores when all you really craved was rest. You gave everything you had, day in and day out. I regret that I never expressed my gratitude. I find myself saying thank you every time I visit your resting place.
To me, you were always number one, Mom. You were my entire universe. Of course, you were too modest to realize this, and I was too caught up in my teenage world to tell you. At 18, heart-to-heart conversations were not my forte. But now, I often whisper how much you meant to me during those quiet moments when grief washes over me. I know I’m just talking to a memory, but I like to believe you can hear me. It helps me cope with the times when life feels overwhelming.
You represented all that was good in the world to me—love, kindness, compassion, and the warmth of Sunday morning biscuits and gravy. You were the supportive voice that told me I was beautiful when I felt anything but. You were the motivation to keep pushing forward when I wanted to give up. You were the sweetness of chocolate chip marshmallow sandwiches fresh from the microwave. You embodied safety and home. Essentially, you were everything I wished I could hold onto forever.
And now, I can never tell you those things. You rest in a place beyond my reach, while I navigate a world you surely don’t miss. So I’ll honor your memory by sharing your love with others. I’ll smile through the pain and rise again each time I stumble. I’ll strive to be the nurturing, loving person you taught me to be for my son. I know it won’t be easy; your shoes are hard to fill, but I’m committed to embodying the kindness and warmth you always showed me.
That’s the least I can do.
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In summary, reflecting on what I wish I had said to my mother reminds me of the importance of expressing love and appreciation. Life is fleeting, and sharing our feelings can create lasting connections that honor those we love.
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