Three Years Gone

Dear Mama,

Somehow, you have been gone three years today. 

I still remember that afternoon I got the call that you had passed. I was laying down on my couch in my small apartment, the one I moved into only two and a half months earlier, mindlessly watching something, probably the Try Guys’ Without A Recipe. I had been home a few hours after visiting you for what turned out to be the last time. Rabbi Lewis had come to visit you in the care home at my request and sat with me as one of your sisters visited. He dropped me off at home afterwards and I remember feeling numb. Maxine and Roxy curled up next to me as I cried on and off.

One of the caretakers called me around 5:50 pm and simply said that you were gone. I thanked him, hung up, and cried. I lost you physically that day, but it had been eight long months of losing you and, in a way, it was a relief when you passed. You weren’t in pain anymore and were free, which gave me comfort even if it felt like I was suddenly free-falling. 

I miss you so much. There are so many things you never got to see and so much more that I know you’ll miss. Out of everything, I regret most that you didn’t live long enough to meet your granddaughter. Eliza is such a firecracker and she’s grown so much already. I’m trying to make sure that she knows about you, that she knows your name and how much you would have loved her. 

Stephen and I took her to Shabbat on Friday and, as she often does, she immediately set off exploring. As I followed her up the stairs to the balcony in Stern Chapel, I thought, “Mom should be here to see this.” You should have been there to see her climbing the stairs with ease, you should have been there to laugh as she giggled and ran around, you should have been there to watch her sweet face as she caught sight of her papa and smiled so brightly that my heart nearly burst. I would give anything to watch you meet and hold her, to see your normally closed-off exterior melt in the presence of such pure joy in the form of our sweet Eliza.

I wept for you last night. I opened the Winnie the Pooh tin suitcase that holds the condolence cards and funeral book, as well as various keepsakes. I don’t remember the last time I went through it, but seeing your familiar handwriting brought an ache that triggered tears. Stephen came into our room, saw me crying, and came over to hug and kiss me. He didn’t need to say anything, his presence was the comfort I needed. I wish you could have met him.

Everything I do holds traces of you. I am the legacy you left behind and I’m trying to do right by you. I’m trying to be the best parent I can for Eliza. I am trying to care for my family in the best way I know how. I am struggling right now with some things and sometimes I feel like I’m not doing enough, but somehow I know that you would tell me that I’m doing everything I can and I will make it through this. I can also imagine some of the snarky comments you would make and that thought makes me smile.

Stephen and I took Eliza to the memorial room this afternoon to visit your plaque. I told her that she was named after you and that her grandma would have loved her so much. Stephen pointed out your name and helped Eliza touch the plaque. He knows how important it is to me that she knows who you are and I am so grateful that I have a husband and partner who honors your memory with me, even though he never had the chance to meet you.

I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could watch you with our beloved dogs again. I wish you could have met my beautiful little family. Most of all, I wish you could have met our fierce little Eliza, I wish you could hear her babbling and talking, I wish you could watch her bring me book after book, demanding that I read to her.

I miss you so much, but I am so grateful that I had you here for almost 36 years and that you poured your heart and love into me, even when it was hard, even when you may have wanted to give up, because you wanted me to have a better life. My life is sweet and full, though I will always ache for my mom. Amidst the most devastating time of my life, I kept going because I knew you would be mad as hell if I gave up just because you were gone and I’m glad I did. I hope I am making you proud.

You were reunited with Maxine back in July and I know you must have been so excited to see her. I can imagine you stretching out on a couch, reading a book, surrounded by our beloved dogs, Bowser, Roxy, Jack, and Maxine. Please give them a big hug from me. I miss those little troublemakers so much.

Thank you for everything, Mama. I love you.

Love,

Anjelica