A Letter to My Mother

I have been thinking a lot about something Prince Harry said recently after the birth of his son. He said, "Missing a mother is like missing some type of security." As this Mother's Day comes to a close, those words remind me that mothers are the glue that hold a family together. And when you have lost your own mother, no matter the age, a part of you is and will always be missing. So in honor of my mother today, the 20th Mother's Day without her, I have written her a letter. It is found below.

Dear Mom,

You never knew this but six months before you passed away I went to see a lady who read my star chart from the night I was born. She had some interesting things to say, and I believe she had a bit of psychic ability. She told me that someone very close to me was sick and that she wasn't sure she was going to make it to Mother's Day. But if she did, then she would pull through the month of May and pass away sometime during the summer months.

It was the day before Mother's Day of 1998. Heather, Dad, and I were at the hospital. You didn't look well. All of your energy was drained from your face and eyes. You were saying your good-byes; I was for sure that this was it. I had prepared myself for what was to come. Waiting for a phone call that night. But one never came. The next day Heather and I went back to the hospital because Dad had stayed the night. We went to your room and you were no where to be found. All of your stuff was in its place but not you. We inquired about your whereabouts and one of the nurses said you were walking around with Dad. Heather and I searched the halls for you, eventually finding  you talking to another patient. I looked at you and knew. Knew that we had been given more time with our beautiful mother. You were in full spirits, the energetic mother I always knew. You said you woke up feeling great. We spent Mother's Day with you in the hospital. I don't remember what we did or talked about. I just remember leaving feeling grateful that I had one more day with you.

The call came late on June 5, 1998. I was at my apartment already in bed because I had to teach the next day. I was finishing up my first year of teaching down in Detroit. The school year was a week from from being done, and I was not around to see the end. There were more important things to tend to. I found comfort in knowing that your dad, mom, and sister came to get you as you took your last breath. You were always a believer in spirits and the afterlife. And this belief brought you peace as you moved on to the next chapter of your life.

Within two weeks of your funeral, I went to work at summer camp. It was there that I met John, and I know you had a hand in that. Do you remember the note you left my sisters and I? The one where you told us how you saw us in your eyes? I still have it. And I find it only fitting that you saw me as your quiet girl who loved the outdoors. You saw me for who I was and never wanted to change me. And that boy you sent me. We were married five years later.

As I get closer to the age of your passing, I find myself remembering more. I remember all the things you did for the three girls you raised. The countless hours of driving us to this practice or that game. Providing us with opportunities to pursue our interests. Trusting me as a 16 year old to use your car. Showing me how to sew and allowing me to travel to another country alone when I was 18. Putting up with my crazy ideas knowing it wasn't right for me but letting me figure that out on my own. Making me call you every night as I traveled across the country alone by u-haul.

Above all you were a mother. One who knew when to let her girls go but always worried about them. You were the glue that held us together. I only hope that I am the type of mother to my own kids that you were to us. I miss you Mom. Every. Single. Day.

Love your middle child,

Elana