It’s coming up on one year. One year since I heard the news that you were dead. I’ve thought about you a lot this past year and each memory I end with a whisper of, “I hope you are at peace.”
I didn’t get to say goodbye to you. In fact, we hadn’t spoken in a few years because life is hard, we were bruised and of course, there’s always tomorrow. You were never not a part of my life though. I talked about you, I remembered you, I looked at pictures of you. The memories were happy, joy filled, and always brought a smile to my face. I missed you.
I reached out to talk to you after you tried to leave us the first time. I ached for you and I wanted you to know I cared. Without judgment or anger or questions, I cared. But you were wounded and hurting and needed to be alone in your grief, so I stayed away.
And of course, there was always tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be the day I sent an email, a letter or tried to call. I looked up your cell phone number. I still had your email and so tomorrow would be the day. Everyday.
I kept up with what was happening through family updates. I knew you were hurting still. I knew there was a struggle and yet I waited. I know that there is nothing I could have done; nothing that would have saved you. But I still wish I could have told you how much I loved you. How much you meant to me and how important you were in a huge part of my life. I wish I could have heard you laugh one more time. I wish I’d had tomorrow.
There has never been another soul in my world that could make me laugh the way you could. You brought joy, laughter and some of the most cherished memories I hold and I thank you for that. I thank you for the love, the laughter, the time we spent together. I thank you today and I thank you too late.
I wrote this last year after I found out you were gone:
You’re gone – too soon
For reasons your own
And I’m left wondering
If I would have known?
Would you have confided and this time I’d know?
This was for real, not just a show.
Would I have felt your pain?
Seen your breath start to fade?
Would I have caught you as you fell?
Could I have made you well?
What do you do when you start to miss them?
When their memory invades and turns your day grim?
How do you stop thinking, “She’s done laughing,”
And focus on the fact that she’s done crying?
How do you not come off as vain?
When you want to reminisce to help stop your pain?
How do you explain the years in between?
When words weren’t spoken and life was unseen?
How do you find solace, in knowing she’s finally free?
When your heart aches, wishing,
she’d stayed … for me?”
It’s been a year without your physical presence but not without your memory. You were a wonderful person, a beautiful, enviable mother, and a tortured soul. I sit here, almost one year later and I still thank you, I still love you and I whisper, “I hope you are at peace.”
I miss you.