On the anniversary of my mother’s death

1_7-5-2010_075At the Children’s Grief Center there is an activity that involves writing a letter to your loved one who has died. I had shared a letter I wrote to my father, and I thought today, on the anniversary of my mother’s death, I would share one I wrote to her:

Dear Mom,

I remember when I fell off a horse the first time I took a riding lesson. Even though the instructor said I should get right back on immediately, you let me take my time, cry it out, and wait until I was ready.

eightThe hardest part about your death for me was that my entire life changed, became unsettled. I learned too early that nothing in life is certain.

It would have been nice if we’d had more time, if you’d had more time. I wonder who I would be had you lived longer.  Would I be more lady-like? Would I be less like my father?  Would I be more outgoing?

I’m really sorry for being a stubborn, eye-rolling adolescent, for arguing with you about silly things like making my bed. “Just close the door if you don’t like it,” I’d say. You’d be happy to know that now I make my bed every morning.

7-7-2010_001If you were here right now I would probably complain about you. It’s what daughters do. But I’d also invite you to all my parties and ask you to bring a dish to share because you were an awesome cook.

64af514b28a43195caab5a3f3c530a8cThank you for teaching me to cook and how to host a party. While those aren’t skills I can necessarily make a living with, they are good for creating and maintaining community, for sharing with friends, and showing my appreciation to the people in my life I care about. And every time I open the Joy of Cooking looking for one of “your” recipes, I think of you.


Love Jenn

About Jennifer Simpson

Writer, marketing consultant, community builder and teacher. Director of DimeStories International, where authors share their 3-minute stories at open mic events and online. Publisher and editor of the I WRITE BECAUSE project. Find out more at http://JenniferSimpsonWriter.com
This entry was posted in grief, Mothers. Bookmark the permalink.