Two Years

Two years, it’s been two very long years and it still hurts like it was yesterday. I can remember everything you’d done for me, from having your door always open and feeding all of us kids (one can of chicken noodle soup for six kids, I still can’t eat it to this day!), to including me in family trips and girl’s night out even though my parents couldn’t afford it and really neither could you.

You always made sure I was involved, and when the kids at school bullied me, you were there telling me to keep my chin up and prove them wrong.  You came over and had coffee with my mom, even though it took you 5 years to finally tell her that you didn’t actually like coffee and finally switched to tea.

When Nicole had her surgeries you let me be there, let me visit daily, sit in on her tutoring sessions and even push her around in her wheelchair, I do apologize for being her reason of anxiety on hills…

If I wasn’t at home, I was always at your place, even after my family and I moved away you made sure Nicole and I kept in touch. Because of you, I’ve had her as my best friend for 20 years.

You were always there for me, even when you were having a hard time and you always were a second mom to me.

Now, exactly two years since you’ve left, I write this as I cry. You left us way too soon, we still needed you but we’re glad you’re no longer hurting. I can remember every moment of that day, the sounds and the smell of the hospital. All the tubes, where all the furniture in the room was.

I remember holding your hands, and you looking up at me, you looked lost, confused and scared and all I could say was “hi mom.” I didn’t know what else to say, what was appropriate and what wasn’t.  All I wanted was a hug from you and you to say everything would be okay. We knew you were leaving us, even worse was that it was your 50th birthday.

Two years later and it hurts just as much, if not more, because not long after you were gone I realized that my last words to you would be “hi mom,” I never actually said goodbye and I feel so guilty that I didn’t. What I wouldn’t give to hear you sing Buddy Wasisname’s ‘Sarah’ again like you used too.

I found out later from Nicole that you’d planned to take me to Dundern Castle the following summer. I’d never been and I’d always wanted to go. I still haven’t gone, mainly because that was going to be our trip. I think I’ll go this summer.

I miss you mom, so, so much and this was so hard to write, I haven’t cried so much in so long.

Lyndsay, Nicole and Miranda are doing amazing. Lyndsay is raising Wesley to be a great little man, Miranda is doing great in school, and Nicole, she’s about to be a mom herself and I know she’ll make you proud. If it hurts me this much, I can’t imagine how much it hurts them, but they’re making it out in the world on their own.

My eyes are blurry and I can barely see, so I’m going to end this here. I just want you to know mom, that even two years later, I miss you just as much and I know that it won’t go away. It feels like just yesterday we were all together with you singing that stupid song to me.

I know you weren’t mine by blood, but you raised me as much as mine did. I miss you so much mom.

I truly hope that when the time comes, I can be half the mom you were.

Happy birthday, we love you. We miss you. I wish you could come back.


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