Dear Mom and Dad —
I miss you, and I don’t. But mostly I do.
Some days I miss you both at the same, and some days I only miss one of you and not so much the other.
I suppose in those ways it’s not so different from when you were alive. There are days of deep connection and need, and days of pleasant distance. As has always been true.
I realized today that for the first time one of your grandchildren is going to college, it’s official. And you won’t know it. But I have to believe you know it. You were both such champions of education, public and private and all the in-between, I have to believe you left this life in confidence that those of us left behind would keep moving that needle in a wide variety of ways.
Mom, I’m spraying this gorgeous new perfume by St. Clair in Vermont. I use it in front of your bridal portrait, which is on my dresser. You would love it.
Dad, I’ve been thinking a lot about the things you left behind that you held onto for decades. Things like your honorary pins from junior high school and high school and college.
Things like that notepad I found when we cleaned out Grandmother’s house. “Things to do today — get out of town before it’s too late.”
It’s getting easier to write again.
I can talk to you now without a reaction, or a game plan, or a response. I can say things to you — I realize it’s not quite fair, I’m not talking to you — things that I need to express, things that were never things I could just tell you. I’m thinking a lot about how as a parent I’m sure it’s a forever challenge to not respond, to just listen and receive and sit with things, because we are supposed to give advice. We are supposed to help and guide and be part of who they are. Or so we are told.
But as my own child grows up, I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I think it’s okay to be quiet.
I think it’s important to be quiet.
I think it’s good to stand in the shadows, and occasionally clear my throat. But to stay right in the shadow of who she is becoming.
I’m sorry it was so hard at the end. I suppose like every other person who has ever lived, I wanted a way to make the bad things go away. I couldn’t do that. But I wanted to.
Anyway, I love you both. And now, yeah…..I’m missing you both. Insert tearful cursing.
I’ll write again.
For all of us.
4 thoughts on “I’ll Write Again”
This is wonderful. You’ve put so much into a little jewel of a piece that it’ll take me all day to unpack it. Thank you for doing what you always do: being brave, honest, raw, and leaving space to think. You’ve left a trail of breadcrumbs for me (and others) to follow when the time comes.
Wishing you peace.
TY, my friend. The only way out is through. Here I go…….
Lovely writing. Several straight shots to the heart:
“I think it’s important to be quiet.
“I think it’s good to stand in the shadows, and occasionally clear my throat. But to stay right in the shadow of who she is becoming.”
Thanks, friend. It’s been challenging to be totally honest about some things, and as you know if you can’ do that you can’t write. Working on it. Thank you so much for reading and commenting.