|I swear, I was a happy kid.|
Note: This was originally posted on September 15, 2011 at 12:09AM through the Notes feature on Facebook. I originally meant to publish this through the blog, but I didn't want the flow of my thoughts to be disrupted by the set up required by Blogger. I am still not familiar with the new changes on Blogger. I didn't change the original entry, so it's filled with grammatical errors as it was originally posted. I didn't want to lose track of this little note, so I am also posting this on Simply Put by Myrene. I appreciate all the support that I got through my readers on Facebook. It took many years for me to process my grief and openly talk about my beloved mom.
Dear Mom, I'm 30
It's 40 minutes until midnight as I start this note. I'm holding onto the last few minutes of my twenties.
It's hard to describe the passing of a decade or in this case, three decades. To help me enter this rite of passage into my thirties, the only thing I could think of is reassuring my mom that I am okay. If her spirit is lingering nearby and if by some merciful miracle, she could read into my heart, she'd know that despite losing her at 18/19 years old that I am doing okay, if not, more than okay.
I still haven't gone through the experience of a mother, but from what all children know, we all need our mothers at any age. It doesn't matter if we're 1, 5, 18, 29, 45, or 95 - we need the comfort of a mother's embrace, acknowledgement, warmth, acceptance, and love. The relationship between a mother and child is both magical and biological.
Once death separated us into 2 different realms, all I have left is her guidance, teachings, quirks, and the memories that we share. I could still imagine her scent and the feel of her skin.
As a 30 year old now addressing her mother as an adult, I wish I knew better when I was 19. I wish I knew that I'd only have you for such a short time and treasure every moment with you. But we didn't have that luxury. We didn't have the luxury of having a relationship between 2 adults. I wish that I argued with you less and listened to you more. I wish I had a video of you. I wish I wrote down all your stories and turned them into a book.
I am happy (and relieved) to know that I am no longer bitter or resentful about being half-orphaned. I think back on my mother's death with sadness, but it no longer controls me as it once did.
I am rekindling my love for the 49ers. I will go to Paris for the both of us. I won't get married until I finish college. I know you wanted an RV, but I don't even like driving all that much.
I'm sorry, but I don't want to be a CPA, but I hope being in management (eventually) will please you. I still have to write that children's book. That has been my dream since I was 6 years old.
I've gone through my first real broken heart and I am dealing with it pretty healthily. I am not turning to black magic or illegal drugs. You had me at 39 years old, so I am not too worried about my biological clock. I'd rather start a family with the right man than settle down out of fear.
I learned what it is to be generous with love and caring for others. I would rather have done too much than not enough. I am finally picking up your talent of opening your heart and generosity to everyone - new and old.
I've inherited your need to only shop for clearance items. I drink my electrolytes. And oregano will always remind of you. I have my moments of fear and doubt, but your legacy reminds to be brave, tough it out, and persevere.
I've accepted my crooked pinkies. And my too big feet for someone as short as me. My face is your face. My hands and my hair are yours as well. I have super teeth. I've inherited all of these from you.
I hope to always have your effervescent spirit that is alive now even though you've been gone for 11 years. I will continue to have conversations with you and imagine what you'd think or say.
Oprah finally retired from daytime television. I thought of you when she ended her show. If you were still here, you'd watch every show of her final season and cry.
I am imagining that you're telling me happy birthday and that you love me.
You have 2 grandchildren - Ryan and Ronan. You'd love them more than Kuya and me.
I miss and love you, Mom! I can't believe I'm 30!