Dear Mom, these are the flowers I would have bought you and this is the card I would have written you.
I've spent most of my life trying to fill in the blanks.
Asking everyone around me about you.
The memories of you tucked away in a box in the attic.
I don't remember what your perfume smelled like, or what made you laugh, but I'll never forget lying in your hospital bed drawing pictures with you.
Your rebellious little six year old.
I'm writing this because I wanna tell you that you were so strong.
That I wish you didn't have to look at your daughter knowing that you'd never see her get taller, get heartbroken, get married.
I'm sorry that I always made you pick me up when you were so weak.
That I tripped over your IV pole.
The Christmas I complained that I didn't get what I wanted.
Being afraid of your wig.
I'm sorry for the fits I threw, the I love you moms I never got to say.
And I'm sorry that it's taken me 21 years to write this card, and it's still not perfect.
I'm writing this because I'd give anything just to be able to fight with you.
I never got to ignore your phone calls because you were too overbearing.
I never got to introduce you to girlfriends or boyfriends you say are bad for me, and I tell you that you don't understand, but months later I realize you were right.
I'm writing this because I'm angry that I have to live life only part way.
All the yearbook pictures I took without you to do my hair, the lunches I made myself.
I feel like I'm missing out on a huge part of being a woman because you're not here.
Like a part of me is in that coffin with you, holding onto your leg, while I scoot across the floor begging you not to go.
You were so beautiful.
It's insane to believe that anyone as beautiful as you ever existed on this earth.
I'm writing this because I wish you were here.
I wish you could see the woman that I've grown into.
I wish I knew which flowers you liked and that I could put them in your hands, rather than on a plot of grass with your name on it.
I'm writing this because I wanna say thank you.
No matter how sick you were all you wanted to do was make sure I felt loved.
Thank you for taking me to Disney World when you were in a wheelchair, letting me draw those pictures in your hospital bed.
Writing me letters like you knew I'd grow up to be who I am, making me feel like I was so special and so smart.
I feel like I'll always be that six year old with a mind of her own, that didn't take orders and doesn't wear dresses that's still waiting for her mom to wake up and tell her that everything is okay again.
I'm writing this because I'll never love anyone as much as I miss you.