Dear Mom,

It’s been weeks since my last letter. I have the beginnings of a few different letters saved. I even have a couple finished ones, ready to go. Something has been keeping me from hitting that publish button.

Is it the fact that I’ve been really busy with my daughter or that I’ve fallen behind on my studies and have been spending most of my time memorizing flashcards? Maybe it’s that sometimes, when I have an hour to spare, I enjoy watching silly, mindless television shows. It can’t be pregnancy brain still. I mean, I wrote and published letters to you the week after giving birth, and my brain is way more clear now than it was then. I thought it could be good old writer’s block that I’m suffering from. But I’m able to write. I’ve been writing, I just don’t like anything I finish.

So, the big question on my mind is one that I’ve been avoiding. Am I not finishing these letters, and am I not satisfied with anything that I write, because I’ve been neglecting to write about what’s actually on my mind? Since I’ve become a mother, do I not need you anymore?

Now, of course I’ll always need my mom. And writing to you has been extremely therapeutic. But I’m beginning to wonder if maybe, it could be possible, that writing letters to you isn’t having the effect on me that it used to.

I don’t wake up every morning thinking about you and how much I miss you. Instead, I wake up every morning wishing that the crying baby in the other room could just go back to sleep and give me one more hour.

I don’t find a new restaurant or see a great movie and wish I could share it with you. Instead, I think about the day when my daughter is old enough to join me.

Instead of having every experience remind me of your absence I am reminded of this new life that is forever apart of my existence.

The thought of me “moving on” is terrifying.

My life during the last seven years has in many ways revolved around you. During the first five years you were sick. Every time I got on a plane it was to come home and spend time with you. Time that we both knew was limited. When I was on a break at work I called you. Other than my husband, you were the most important relationship in my life. And at times, I’m sure ours overshadowed the one with him. We talked about everything and you were in many ways my rock.

Losing you was so very difficult. Even with the knowledge that the end was approaching, it was still the worst day of my life when you left us. And for the last two years I dealt with it. I cried often, almost on cue. Just a thought of you not being here could trigger my tears. There were many nights where I cried to Jeremy. When we both talked about how much we missed you and shared some of our favorite memories of you.

Lately I’ve noticed that the days where I look at my daughter and wish that you could see her are shrinking away. I’ll always have that thought within me, somewhere in the back of my mind. But the thought that is now on the surface is about how excited I am for the day when I can begin sharing stories about you to her. Those moments are my future and sometimes I feel like the crying about you is keeping me in the past. The best thing I can give to my daughter is a mother who is present. A mother who looks at her with happiness and excitement. With anticipation for the future and pure joy for today.

I can’t say that you’re only my past. I can’t break my promise and forget about you. I have to keep you alive in my memories, but I don’t have to allow your death and the grief it caused me to consume my life and my emotions. We all experience death. Yours was not the first in my lifetime and certainly won’t be the last. Although it was the hardest one yet, it wasn’t the end of my world and I see that more clearly now.

And I do understand that I have the capacity to feel grief and happiness at the same time. I don’t have to give up entirely on missing you and feeling sad that you’re never going to hold my daughter in your arms. But I do believe there is a balance.

I love you Mom and I will always be your daughter who misses you and remembers you. However, it is time for me to turn to my new role. Being a mother myself takes precedent. I need to become the kind of mother you were to me, and in order to do that, I feel like I need to open my eyes, wipe away the tears and focus on my daughter.

I love you Mom and I will never forget you.

Rachel