14 Years

Dear Mom,

Can you believe it’s been 14 years? I’ve lived almost the entire lifetime we had together in years without you. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday. Then it feels like 100 years ago. How much the world has changed. How much I’ve changed. Usually on August 14th I sit down and write you something pulled from the depths of my soul. I find a thought, a theme. Weave it into something that is emotional and tender, gently edited to capture everything in one coherent piece. How intimate, right? To craft something for you. 

But you know what I miss? I miss intimacy that’s just…life. The silly, the mundane, the novel, the trivial. I don’t get to share that with you anymore. I don’t get to call you and rant about a coworker being annoying. I don’t get to send you a funny video and then five more after. I don’t get to tell you about the kid who sneezed on me on the train and wiped his hand on my tote bag. We don’t have all of the moments that get to exist between the big life milestones. So this year, I don’t have anything thoughtful to write you. No recent realizations or profound life connections. I’m going to tell you about whatever pops in my head first, type it in a Google doc, then I’m going to post it on the Internet, close my laptop, and go live my life. Because isn’t that all you ever wanted for me? 

It’s August 14th and the lamp from my ceiling is glowing a soft amber and there’s a piece of Palo Santo burning in a dish. I had a protein bar and a piece of fish for lunch (not together that would be gross). My hair is wet from a shower and I’m wearing your favorite color, red. Noah Kahan plays in the background. I think you would’ve liked his music. 

I gave myself a concussion while doing laundry a couple weeks ago. How dumb is that? The dryer door swung and hit me in the temple when I was putting clothes in. Still not fully back to normal. I get woozy doing things and staring at screens. You would’ve laughed and scolded me. Thanks for teaching Ryan and I how to do laundry when we were young. Good life skill to have.

My hair is a blond balayage now. It’s been a lot of different blondes. The platinum bob was fun. You would’ve said something weird like, “it’s rock and roll or badass.” Both of those things would’ve been cringeworthy. It’s probably better you didn’t live to see how much I spent on my hair being blonde. The price tag would’ve made you pass out. At least now my hair is partially my natural color. It’s long though, sorry. I know you never liked my long hair. You said I looked like everyone else. 

$2 buck chuck at Trader Joe’s isn’t a thing anymore. It’s mostly $4. Which is still pretty cheap. How did you buy so much wine? Did you ever get Asian glow? I don’t remember. I found out I’m allergic to certain liquors if they’re not top shelf. You would never let me live that down. It would’ve been fun to get drunk together. I laugh wondering who would be louder. People would need to wear earplugs around us. 

Remember when I walked into your bedroom when I was 13 and lay face down on the carpet and cried that I was going to die alone and never find a boyfriend? You were lying in bed reading and didn’t even look up from your book. “You’re being dramatic, you have plenty of time to meet someone.” Well I eventually had a first boyfriend. Multiple since then. And I’m still dramatic. That’s (probably) not going to change. Going through heartbreak without you is rough. But hey, no one’s broken my heart as badly as you did. So in a way you gave me practice.

My 31st birthday party I did a Minute to Win it theme. You remember that show? We used to watch it on the hospital TV while you were getting chemo. I don’t think I’ve laughed harder than watching 18 of my friends roll around on my living room floor with tissue boxes taped to their butts or trying to pass lifesavers on coffee stirrers in their mouths. I can imagine you demanding to be Facetimed so you could watch. You’d laugh so hard in that weird throaty yet high pitched way. I wish I remembered how your laugh sounded better. It’s so faint now. Everyone would want a turn saying hi to you. You would’ve been a celebrity to them and it would have embarrassed and thrilled me. 

I’m trying to take better care of myself now. Keep myself alive for the life you gave me. I eat vegetables now. SHOCKING RIGHT?? That would’ve made you fall out of your chair. Probably don’t eat as many as I should but hey it’s something. I (kind of) eat salads now. Wish I could’ve tried your Chinese chicken salad. Why was it called Chinese? I’ll ask someone else.

Well, it’s time for me to go. I have a party that my friends are hosting. I’m excited and even though I can’t text you about it, I’ll think about you every time something funny happens. Sometimes I really hate you for dying. Even though I miss you more than anything and love you more than everything. But I’m really loved here. There’s a lot of people, as dad likes to say, “in my corner.” I have my hard days. Sometimes I wish I could leave it all and come find you. But I won’t. I’ll keep going. That’s all any of us can do. Just keep loving and keep living. 

Thanks for being you. Thanks for being my mom. Even when you’re not here. Thanks for being such a big part of what makes me, me. I think a lot of the things people love about me come from you. 

Until next year.