Dear Mom,

Two years ago today Dad called me to come home from college.  Two years ago I sat in the living room for four days straight, letting Dad cry on my shoulder, letting him sleep while I stayed awake, and tending to your needs because the hospice thing got botched (of course, right?! haha).

From that Monday-Thursday I didn't sleep at all.  I was running on coffee and was so delirious I hallucinated a few times.  I didn't really mind it though, the days were sort of fun because soooo many people came over to say goodbye to you.  And we all sat around the hospital bed reminiscing.  They told me ridiculous stories about your high school years that I'm sure you failed to tell me for good reason hahaha but like mother like daughter(s), right?  It was the night time that I hated.  When the visitors left and it was just me and Dad and Kir and you.  I laid awake in complete fear each night that if I fell asleep no one would be awake if you were to die.  Every time I heard you gasp for breath or heard Dad snore loudly I physically jumped off the couch and ran over to check if you were still alive.  And at night when Dad and I would have to bring you to the bathroom, give you water through a small sponge, and move your limbs for you, I just wanted to break down.  Nights were the worst.

Two years ago today I had my last full conversation with you.  It was night time and it was just us in the room.  I remember crying so hard through most of it, not even being able to get out what I wanted to say because I couldn't stop crying.  There was too much to say.  I remember apologizing for everything, but I know that wasn't enough.  Mom I was a terrible daughter.  I was so psychologically messed up my whole life and I know that I probably gave you and Dad more anxiety than any parent bargains for.

I think Bean and Jessie came over to say goodbye on the second or third day.  They were like daughters to you and watching Bean's reaction sent me into a complete whirlwind of emotions.  I was so numb by the whole situation--too much stimuli to take in at once--and it all came crashing down at that one instant.  I remember the three of us walking in the backdoor, and Bean couldn't even see your face but she could see the bed in the living room.  She put her hands to her head and started crying and ducked into the dining room.  That made me lose it.  I remember running up the stairs to my room as fast as I could, and I could hear Bean running after me.  I slammed my bedroom door shut, almost in her face, but she ran in my room anyway.  I ran out past her and into the bathroom and I remember standing against the wall, breathing heavily, and slowly beginning to slide down the wall and into a ball on the floor as I cried harder than I had ever cried.  And Bean just held me.  There was nothing anyone could say.

You weren't just a mom to me and Kir and our best friends--you were literally a mom to all of Ewing High School.  You were their "Momma D."

If you were here today there is so much I would say to you--starting with how much I love you and how sorry I am for the years of pain I caused you.  I would tell you how I didn't end up transferring colleges and how I love my life in Virginia now.  That I changed my major from math to psychology with a minor in biology because I want to go to grad school to be an occupational therapist--the career path that you suggested to me one summer down the shore.

Most importantly I would tell you how great my life is now that I accepted Christ into my heart.  Mom, the joy that's with Him is unexplainable.  And I hope you know far better than me about that perfect love because my greatest hope in the world is that you are in heaven right now kickin' it with Jesus.  I would tell you all about how different my life is now and how I love my IV friends and my church in Virginia.  But Mom, just because I love Jesus now doesn't make this any easier.  (And time doesn't make it any easier either.)  A lot of people think that.  They think I shouldn't be sad after two years or because now that I know Christ it makes me miss you less.  But you know that's not the case.  If anything it makes things harder because I know how real salvation is and I have no way of knowing where you are right now.  I pray that you're in heaven, but my prayers won't change the destiny that is already active for you.  Two years isn't that long, and I'm still just a girl who needs her mom for various things all the time.  I think about how I wish I could call you almost daily, but I never tell that to people because I feel like they'd be like "JUST GET OVER IT ALREADY."  But I was a momma's girl and I want you here with me.  I'm still just a mere college kid... all my other friends depend on their parents more than they realize.  I think until a mom is taken away do we college kids actually realize how much one is needed.

Most of the time I wish you were here for the simple every day things.  I wish I could call you when I'm stressed over a class or work or when I'm debating which classes to take.  I wish I could call you for recipes or text you about boy-issues or friend-drama.  I miss having someone that actually cares when I'm sick and actually wants me to come home for breaks.  I miss the little times you would surprise me by buying me clothes when you were out or buying pineapple when you heard in passing conversation that I was craving some--Kir and I were constantly on your radar and you were constantly loving us and thinking of us.  I never showed you how appreciative I am for that.

I realize that God has a plan in taking you away from me so early in my life.  I committed my life to Christ soon after you died and I know that your death had a lot to do with not only me searching for answers and following the Lord, but with my rapid spiritual growth.  I've been through a lot more than most people my age and I think that's really helped me in my spiritual understanding of the Lord and His Word and why any circumstance occurs.  And I'm thankful that God has a will for my life and used you in that will, but I still frequently ask Him, "Was this really the only way, Lord?  Does it really have to be like this?  I miss her."

I know that while you were dying I promised you I'd take care of Dad and Kir, and thus far I've pretty much failed at that.  I'm never home and when I am we all just argue.  We have all developed new "rules" and new "ways of living" and it just seems that mine doesn't fit in with theirs anymore.  But I do promise you that I am praying that Christ softens their hearts--that they come to know their Savior like I (and I hope you) have.  Only He can take care of them; I cannot.

me & you before prom my junior year of high school

I miss you more than words can describe, Mom.  And I love you so much.

Love,
Lyss