Open Letter

Mom,

I have severe writer's block. I know this is surprising as I have always appeared to  have something to write about. But since you've passed away, I have nothing witty, philosophical or intelligent to proclaim other than the old standby of " I miss you." I am very embarrassed with my current writing skills, but I know I need to emote in this manner it as it is an important way of foraging through the grief spiral.

Nothing will ever be the same. I still can't believe that you are truly gone, " gone" being the word of discussion here. It depends on what and who you believe in, and to be quite honest, right now I am struggling with it all. " Gone" is so final, but aren't we dealing with finalities daily anyway? I think so. Maybe. I suppose my indecision with this makes me the perfect philosophy major. In the end ,though,  in MY mind, it's what we believe to be true and comforting that matters that is important. Who cares what the rest of society believes?

 I continue to project this image of you hanging out with your father(my grandfather), Doris(my father's mother), and your friend Susan who passed away from cancer several years ago, at some hippie bar , laughing and smiling and occasionally checking in on the rest of us down here on earth. My Harry Potter imagination yields you a special wand to wave when one of us finds ourselves in some sort of conundrum.  This image of mine does not paint a picture of "gone" , but rather " delayed" for the moment.

Whatever you are, or wherever you are, I miss you. I think about you all day, all night. When I do sleep, I keep my husband up with my nightmares( which I can't remember). When I am awake, everything I think and do requires a memory that you have provided for me.

I pick up the phone with the intent to tell you something, whether it is that I won the lottery or that Arlo did something ridiculous that I wanted to share. I loved sharing Arlo stories with you because you would laugh that guttural laugh that was your own... daddy described it once as a "machine gun" laugh...and now it will  never be heard again, except in dreams. I want to tell you my day to day boring crap. I want to tell you that I was accepted into graduate school.  I want to tell you, again and again, how much I love you and miss you....

But I can't.