The burial ceremony was held over a blanket of fresh snow on a cold January afternoon. I hadn't grabbed my jacket as I left the church, I remember needing the pain of the chill to distract me from my overwhelming sorrow. Mom's closest family were gathered there, and I stood the farthest away. I elected not to add a handful of dirt upon her grave.

I've tried driving by since, but manage to have my mind elsewhere as I pass. I blame it on too many thoughts, sometimes a make-believe case of ADD, sometimes not feeling well. I think in at least some part that I cannot completely recognize as of yet, it's a contrived forgetfulness. I can still hear her telling me, "Why do you look for me there?"

Last night, as I was filling time until a friend got home from work, I went for a run. My feet just kind of took me there. It was a quick 2.5 miles, too quick for me to realize where I was headed. I gradually shortened my stride as I neared, working down to a jog, then a walk, as I crossed the life-rife lawn and sat with my knees held to my chest at her marker.

I let Norah Jones continue to sing in my ears. Her soulful voice enacts me to feel even when my bullying mind tells me that feelings are illogical, stupid, and counter-productive. The combination of "Painter Song" and my mother's absence was potent.



I sat there and sobbed. I miss her so.

I've met with many tears as of late. Brenda thinks it is because time has passed and I've begun to let my guard down. All at once I have become flustered with life, and completely lost in the nonexistence of the time I was once so eager to schedule away. Brenda suggested just this week that I sit at her grave and speak with my mother, that she was always there to listen. I didn't accomplish a lot of speaking last night, but it was a step.

I ran home with a chill in my bones, entering the empty house and feeling so entirely alone.

I saw the metallic reflection from across the room. It was peeking from behind the television, and, knowing that the television was a 200-pound object, I knew I hadn't moved it since it was placed there last June. I was in the midst of gathering workout clothes to use after work that day, as I was going to try my luck running sans-treadmill with Nick. I was a bit frazzled, but curious nonetheless. I turned my back to the incongruity and failed to act unimpressed. I dropped my tee-shirt and stumbled, in my haste, across the room. It was a very sorry sight, I am certain.

My curiosity knew no satiation as I found the object to be a diskette. A diskette! When's the last time I've even had a 3.5" floppy drive on my computer!? Any computer!? That would be the very first computer I ever bought 100% on my own, back in 2000...the laptop that I still gripe cost me $3,500. Not having the appropriate drive, why would diskettes be anywhere to be found? It was quite the quandary...and not having the appropriate drive as stated, how would I even know if anything was saved to the disk?

I, being the clutter-hating sort, was going to toss it in the nearest trash can, but something, some shred of intervention, kept me from doing so. How did  it get there? I held the nondescript, unlabeled black disk in gentle hands and turned it over once...twice...three times...the light catching on the silvery slider. And, a recent conversation with Brenda replayed in my head, how she custom-ordered a floppy drive in her new Dell so she could transfer files from her former, CD-Burner-less machine—the one she gave away for parts-harvesting.

It was very early in the morning, and the house slept. I found my way to the aforementioned Dell and, inserting the disk, elected to explore the contents in the A: drive. I found something there that chilled me, warmed me, and overwhelmed me...taking away my desire to write a single word for days, tearing at a too-often ignored wound and salving my heart. A letter from my mother...my mother to whom I bestowed my 2000-era, $3,500 laptop, a comely Gateway I named Meg. I can't determine when she wrote the letter, when she was still able to walk down a flight of stairs, and my eyes overflow when I think of her writing such a piece and leaving if for me to discover in a future without her. Brenda says she feels like Mom has been around lately, touching our lives...the supernatural is beginning to lose the edge of "super" for me, and the unexplainable has become my reality. My mother touched my heart in life, and she still has a hand there.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to share the letter here. I cried for the longest time after I first read it...I've only read it a handful of times, for the void echoes too profoundly when I remember the writer, the one who felt those words, is forever gone from this life, this world. And, I questioned myself, why would anybody want to know exactly what my mother thought of me? Where is the interest in that? But, you should know what kind of a person she was, and how beautiful her sense of love and devotion really was. You should know that no better mother ever existed, nor best friend either. You should know that no one can ever come close to the height of her grace, her generosity. You should know that she fought until the very end of her life, telling us just days before she died, "I'm not as sick as you all think I am." You should know, by her words, the magnitude of the woman I am missing so completely:

My precious daughter, how can I ever tell you what you have meant to me? You have made the end of my life worth the struggles I faced in days past, and I the only thing that saddens me as I face the end is not being able to see who you will become. You have so much depth, understanding, and wisdom, and you have taught me peace. I am at peace with life’s curve balls because you’ve shared with me your faith in God and your assurance that the answers will be revealed to us when we’re ready to accept them, and “not a moment before.” I watched you work through the end of your marriage with admiration and pride—a woman’s admiration and pride, not a mother’s—for I know I couldn’t have handled myself so serenely or so gracefully if it had been my burden to bear, and please never feel like there is something that you could have done differently to change the course of things. There is something bright and beautiful before you, and someone will be fortunate enough to experience it with you one day, I am certain. Your heart is so big that it begs to be shared. My poor Laura. The last several years have been rough on you. I watched you struggle and come out on top time and time again, never complaining, and always learning, always teaching others what you had to know pain to discover. You’re a fighter, and you will always come out on top. I have no fears that you will be ok without me in your life, even if it hurts. You’re no stranger to hurt, and as you always tell me after a “down” day, “Our greatest gift is to feel; the worst thing to feel is nothing at all.” I ask that you take care of your father, brother, and aunts. They don’t know it yet, but they will come to need you in their life as they do nourishment or sleep. I cannot tell you how upset I am that I will no longer be able to learn from you, that my education must end here. I know I’ve told you before, but there is a song from Martina McBride that paints our relationship so accurately from start to finish. Here are the lyrics: In my daughter's eyes I am a hero I am strong and wise and I know no fear But the truth is plain to see She was sent to rescue me I see who I wanna be In my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace This miracle God gave to me gives me strength when I am weak I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes And when she wraps her hand around my finger Oh it puts a smile in my heart Everything becomes a little clearer I realize what life is all about It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light It's in my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes I can see the future A reflection of who I am and what will be Though she'll grow and someday leave Maybe raise a family When I'm gone I hope you see how happy she made me For I'll be there In my daughter's eyes You are always so complimentary about me, and I can’t tell you what this song meant to me after I connected it to you, when I’d hear it at the end of a long, sick week, and I felt like quitting. I felt defeated in every possible way, and then I’d think of you, roll out of bed, and fight with every ounce of strength I had left. You kept me alive for longer than you know…with your love and your admiration, I wanted to be the person you saw. In my daughter’s eyes, I know that I was a thousand times better than I could ever dream to be. You have the oldest soul and the most generous attitude toward everybody. You make sure that when you speak, your words will not offend, and you seek to help those who are in need. You don’t let anybody suffer alone, and I love you, baby. You have meant more to me in the last 24 years than I can ever completely express. It’s the middle of the night and I am uncomfortable, I cannot sleep. I could take a sleeping pill, but I thought maybe I’d take a leaf from your book and process all of the thoughts in my head instead of trying to overpower them. I don’t know if you’ll ever discover this .doc, but I know my days are growing fewer. Everything is slowing down. Everything hurts, but the ache in my heart most of all. I am going to miss you, my beautiful girl, and as the disease takes hold and I am slowing down I am beginning to miss you already, and I can’t help but feel robbed that I didn’t get more time with you. But then I question, “Would it ever have been enough?” No, it wouldn’t. I could never have enough time with you. I was blessed with you. I love you, Laura. The sun warming your face will be my loving embrace always.