Dear Mom,
It’s been 21 years.
21 years since I last heard your voice.
21 years since I snuck into the living room to hear you playing the piano.
21 years since I heard your sweet singing voice.
There are so many things about you that I struggle to remember. I was so young, and so much happened all at once, that I think my mind forced itself to forget some things just to survive. I’m so sorry, Mom. I hate that.
But here’s what I do remember –
I remember you being there… for everything.
All the band performances.
The basketball games.
The horse shows and practices.
The Junior Bible Quiz competitions.
You never missed any of it.
I remember going to work with you, sitting behind your desk in a bean bag chair when I was sick, and you giving me little jobs to do around the office.
I remember how much you loved our little dog.
He followed you everywhere – and even though he couldn’t have protected you from anything, he made it his mission to never let you out of his sight.
I remember that you sang me to sleep every night – probably for entirely too long.
And if I spent the night with a friend, I had to call you before bed so you could sing to me over the phone.
After you were gone, I prayed so often and asked God, “Why?”
I know that’s a common question when someone loses a loved one… but my young heart couldn’t even process the fact that you were gone, much less all the chaos that followed in your absence.
Over the years, I’ve felt so many emotions.
And while I’ve obviously been angry at Dad… I’ve realized I was carrying anger toward you too.
Anger because you didn’t leave him.
Anger because you had every reason to – again… and again… and again.
But you stayed.
You put up with the emotional and psychological abuse.
You put up with the lies, the secrets…
The affairs.
I was angry because maybe if you had left, you’d still be here.
It feels unfair to even say that. Even now, I can’t believe I admitted it out loud.
But I see why you stayed.
You loved him – even despite everything – you still loved him.
You wanted to be a good wife.
And you loved your girls. You loved us SO much.
Not once did I ever doubt that you loved me.
My heart has broken so many times over the years –
Anytime the boys reach a big milestone.
Anytime something exciting happens in my life.
Anytime motherhood feels heavy, or I’m wrestling with my own failures, or wondering, “Am I doing enough?”
I don’t know that a girl ever outgrows the need for her mom.
So today, I wanted to take a moment and tell you some of the things I would say if I could sit across from you one more time…
First… I married the best man. I’m still not sure what I did to deserve him.
He protects my heart and loves me fiercely.
He has so much wisdom.
He lives with integrity.
He’s kind, slow to anger, and quick to tell me when I’m getting too fired up. (and trust me… that happens more than I care to admit…)
He’s the best dad – modeling for the boys what it looks like to be a God‑fearing man.
He loves the Lord and has a servant’s heart.
Mom, you’d love him.
Second… Your grandkids have gotten huge…
Michael is driving now. He’s 16, a junior in high school, and he plays lacrosse. He has a great social life and is the life of the party – all the time. His personality is so much like his dad’s. He carries a high sense of responsibility for himself and everyone close to him, and he has such a heart to help people. Watching him grow up has been so fun… but it’s going entirely too quickly. He regularly reminds us that he only has a year and a half left of high school and can’t wait to be out on his own – and we regularly remind him that right now he’s living with no bills, so maybe don’t rush it away too fast.
Mason is in 8th grade. He’ll be 14 next month, and he’s our soccer player. He’s more introverted, but he has his extroverted moments. He was always my one who wanted to be attached to me – never wanting me to leave, always wanting to be close. Of course, now that he’s in middle school, he’s definitely more independent. His personality is a lot like mine. He’s tenderhearted, kind, compassionate, and feels things more deeply than Michael does.
I’ve tried to always be involved where they are involved – just like you were with me.
I’ve tried to make sure I’m there for everything… all the games, all the church events… because I never want them to remember a time when I wasn’t.
Next… I don’t have you here. I wish that were different.
But I do have several people who have stepped into motherly roles in my life over the years, and I’m incredibly grateful for them.
And I married into a really great family.
You would love Brian’s parents – they’re so good to me and to our boys.
I think you and his mom would be great friends.
Lastly… We have the best church family.
I couldn’t ask for better people to do life with.
Mom, I had some rough years in there… seasons where I honestly wasn’t sure I’d make it through. We’ve had hard seasons and seasons of overflow. Brian and I have grown up together – learning to love each other more and more as we get older, learning to value each other, learning not to take each other for granted.
There are so many other things I could say – but I think what I’d want you to know most is that I’m okay.
Remember when we moved to Vincent?
I know you were skeptical about Dad preaching at another church – and you had every reason to be. But once we got there, my little preteen self watched you flourish into someone I hadn’t seen before. You had friendships. You were happy. People poured into your life, and you poured into theirs.
Well… that’s what’s happened to me, Mom.
I’m finally at a place in my life where I feel like I’m flourishing.
God has been so good to me.
Thank you for instilling faith in me.
I may have wandered for a while – but because of the seeds you planted, I had somewhere to come back to.
Thank you, Mom. I love you, always.
Grief has a way of weaving itself into every season of life, but it doesn’t get the final word. When I look at my family, my faith, and the woman I’ve become, I see evidence of God’s goodness everywhere.
I see the legacy you left behind – even in the short time you had with us.
I’m not the little girl who lost her mom anymore.
I’m a woman who has learned to stand, to heal, to love deeply, and to build a life that honors you.
And still, there are moments when I wish I could go back – just for one more conversation, one more hug, one more ordinary moment with you.
But as I look at my life now, I see how God has gently filled the empty spaces with people, with purpose, and with a kind of joy I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.
I carry you with me in the quiet moments, in the way I love my boys, and in the way I choose hope.
Maybe that’s the most beautiful part of all – that even after 21 years, your love is still shaping my story.
