Dear Momma...

I just want to know you are okay.

Dear Mom,

It feels so strange to be here without you.

I can hear inside myself my desire for independence, especially these last few years, and also judging myself for wishing I wasn’t so consumed with your wellbeing.

With you actually gone, I am not quite sure what to make of it all. The finite of it is deafening. I am not quite sure who I am now, or who I will become.

I have dreams, you know, big dreams and ideas for myself and my life. I guess I just always wanted them to be with you or with you receiving the glory of them too.

I think of you often when I wake in the morning. Before I have a full conscious breath, that choice as I leave the sleep state into the living of the day, I think of you and remember that you are gone. It is in those moments that I start to replay this last year.

I replay the way you died, and the details Brian shared with me. I wished I could have been with you to comfort you. He said you were feeling scared and that troubles me so, Momma. The idea of you feeling scared and more discomfort than you already endured deeply troubles me. I have to turn away from those thoughts or I will be a puddle.

When I stay up late, into the morning, I find myself stop in moments and just breathe you in, the idea of you, a shared moment, a memory. I look up at your pictures on my wall, and I say to myself, “oh, momma, I miss you so.” I start to talk to you or the idea of you and stop myself.

I want to know if you are there.

Are you watching me?

Are you trying to communicate to me?

Do you have some powerful wisdom for me, some insight into my life from this new clearer place from which you are?

Or is your Soul somewhere out in the nothingness from which we came unattached to any idea of Davia, or me?

I feel selfish for these thoughts - about me, wanting to know more about me. It’s been so confronting to face how much my identity was tied to you, to your humanity.

Being your kid was such a powerful experience. I felt grounded by you and safe, and I also felt overwhelmed and controlled by your ways.

Once I heard myself say to someone that nothing in my life felt real until I shared it with you. Every single time something happened in my life that felt even remotely significant, I wanted to tell you. A milestone on a goal or dream you knew about, you were the person I wanted to tell.

You became such a generous listener and your praise and encouragement meant so much to me. I knew that my happiness and inspiration created so much joy for you too. It made it feel real, like it was somehow more true when I told you.

I also know that any opportunity I could have to create happiness for you was my unending goal.

So much of what motivated me in my life was to create more for you.

I wanted to achieve more financial wealth so I could create a home and experience for you so you wouldn’t need to have money control your ideas of what was possible for you.

In my 30s and 40s I wanted so badly to have a family. I never thought that wouldn’t occur and the idea of sharing that with you and making you a grandma would have been a triumph.

I tried not to feel guilty for that - and as you know it was a difficult reality for me to accept and move beyond the despair that consumed me. But I couldn’t help thinking often how your life would have been different if you got to have this experience.

I told myself you would have aged differently and taken better care of yourself because you would have wanted to be in their lives in any way you could.

I can see it now for myself, as I age. The deficit of not watching my child mature into adulthood and then create their own families. I can see how that adds a whole other beautiful upleveling of being human.

I wanted that for you. I wanted that for both of us.

I am so sorry for that Mom. I know you still created a lot of magic with your life but when I allow myself to ponder these thoughts like now it’s deeply sad for me.

Accepting an outcome that cannot be changed I feel is one of the hardest parts of being a human being. When we are faced with our lack of omnipotence.

Is that where you are now? Are you in Rumi’s field? Are all the hurts and pains of being human gone there? Are you still in pain?

That’s what I want to know the most.

I can hear it so profoundly as I type these words through tears. Imagining you without pain and a life where pain is not holding or limiting your experience of your life.

If there’s a way to hear from you, Momma, and I could only ask one question, this is the one.

Loving you,

Jennifer

My Dearest Jen,

Honey, I am okay. I am good.

I know it’s likely hard for you to believe. You always seemed to see deeper into me than I could at times.

I know I didn’t identify my traumas because that language just didn’t exist for my generation, and I really didn’t think I had a choice or any where to go. I did what I thought was right and honestly I don’t really recall now how I got to where I did when I got away from those earlier situations with your brother.

I am okay. I miss you and your brother, I do. I am so sorry for your pain and for having to leave when and how I did but there is no perfect way, right?

I am not in any physical pain. No more ailments. No need for special potions, vitamins or adjustments. I don’t actually feel a body at all. Isn’t that something?! Its fabulous!

I wish I could know what to say to make it better or to wipe all those thoughts and ideas away. But you know more than I did that it’s all part of your path.

Yes, God gave you and your brother to me, but you are your own person, so strong, independent; the way you see the world often could take my breath away. Your relentless belief in humans, in others, in me, in yourself, it inspired me beyond anything I could understand.

I too am sorry you didn’t get to have your own family and we didn’t get to do all the things. Sure I wanted that experience. Children are such a wonder.

I also think my generation, especially, created a whole new life with grandchildren. It was kind of like a do-over, but better. I was pretty young with both you and Brian and didn’t know much about anything. I think I thought I was more equipped and perhaps earned the right to help raise another child. But, life is what it is, my darling daughter. You have to let that go, please. I am at peace with that completely.

I am sorry you felt so responsible for my happiness. I was trying to do all of it on my own and I am sure I made plenty of mistakes. I wasn’t happy being alone. Your father and I had a dream. We saw beyond The Mob being on the road. I just thought it was going to be different.

I didn’t know all the things you sensed and saw. I didn’t have your tools or education. From here I can see what you felt, but then I was just doing the best I could in each situation. I created homes. I got jobs. I relied on a budget that my mom taught me and we did okay, didn’t we?

You will be okay. You will see more of what I see too in time. Just give yourself time. Do it the way you would. Don’t do it the way I would. Your way is the better way, for you. You do have powerful skills and tools, ones I did not have and that is what makes you and your life so important and wonderful. You are a shaker and a mover, my dear. You have never been willing to accept what isn’t right, what doesn’t feel right to you, and I have always admired that about you. You are tenaciously brave and I received so much joy seeing you become who you are.

Your triumphs are mine no matter where we both are, and you can find ways to share with me anytime. A moment. A pause. I am here. For eternity.

F&A,

Momma

PS. Dear Reader - I wanted to record myself reading this to you but I couldn’t hold myself together. My hope in sharing something so vulnerable is that it will remind you of your own beauty - those feelings that can rush forward, that, is your beauty.

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