Dear Mom

A lot of times when I start thinking about you, my mind gets caught up in the hallways of the hospital in Birmingham, and the helpless, panicked, lost feelings that swamped me there.  I miss you so much.  I wish I could go back to that labrynth of a hospital and run through those endless hallways screaming for doctors until I find someone who can FIX YOU.  I couldn’t then, and still cannot wrap my brain around the (fact?) that even though you were nestled deep within a hospital that covered multiple city blocks and boasted the brightest doctors of every possible field, there was nobody, nobody, nobody that could make your body liveable again.

And then I play this little game with myself, when I know that I can’t go back and make someone fix you…if only I could go back to your last day here, then that might be good enough.  I would know that there would be no tomorrow, and I would do so much more than call a hurried “see you tomorrow!” over my shoulder as I left in frustration.  I would be so happy to honor your request to keep brushing your hair.  I’d brush until it all fell out, if I could go back to that day.  I’d kiss your hands – those hands that shaped my life and heart in so many ways, and I would thank you for it all.  I would shower you with all the love and affection that I kept bottled behind my frustration that you weren’t getting better.  I would not be in denial.

Whenever I tell David that I am missing you, he smiles and asks what I’d like to be doing with you right then.  Most of the time I don’t have a specific answer, I just miss BEING with you.  Did I ever tell you that you were my favorite person to just “be” with?  I think I did.  I hope I did.  I loved riding with you, of course.  I’m so glad we made the effort to trailer Di out to Green Acres and took that long, long trail ride through the neighborhoods and ranger camp.  I’m glad we didn’t give in to good sense and turn around after half an hour like we considered doing.  That was our last trail together and I cherish those memories – the ones we made and the ones you shared with me that day.

I loved shopping with you, and talking and savoring the joy that is a Mocha Blast together.  We never did meet a Baskin Robbins that we could pass up, did we?  But mostly I just miss being with you.  We could commune and lift one another’s spirits in peaceful silence.  I miss riding in the car with you (even though you always insisted on having the top down and turning my hair into a rat’s nest!) and I often think about sitting at home reading books together.  I miss your presence.

My hope is that somehow, you can see how your family has pulled together this past year.  I wish you were here to enjoy it with us, of course.  So much has been done in remembrance of you!  You wouldn’t believe the work Dad’s gone through buying a farm and turning it into a Horse Haven.  He’d say it’s all for me….but I  know he’s still got you in mind.  Diantha is going to be spoiled to the end, all at Dad’s hand.  Lauren talks about riding Diantha all the time, but she never calls her by name – it’s always “Grandma’s Horse!”

I wish you could see my girls.  I’m so glad you got to spend some time with Lauren, but it hurts that you didn’t even get to meet Dani.  You were so excited to know that I was pregnant with her!  At least I’ll be able to tell her that Grandma loved her before the rest of us even met her.

It’s hard to believe you’ve been gone a year today.  Then again, so much has happened – has it only been a year?  Either way, not a day has passed where I haven’t thought of you.

I love you.

Becki

Tagged as: horses, loss, memories, Mom, Remembrance