In The Blink Of An Eye

Dear Mom,

It has been four years since I lost you, and I miss you every day that passes by. I remember how much I admired you when I was little. You were the matriarch of our family, and everyone looked up to you. No matter what challenges we faced, you always tackled them with such strength and perseverance. You were there whenever I needed you, and I knew I could always count on you. It's the small memories that mean the most to me, though. Like when we would cook together. Or when you would read me a bedtime story at night. But my favorite was when you would sing to me. I close my eyes, and I can still hear the sound of your voice. What I really miss, though, is your cooking. To this day, I dream about your sweet potato pie. Even though I must have seen you make it a thousand times, I can never make it as good as you.

Until the age of 12, I thought you and dad were the strongest people I knew. Then that horrible night happened. The night you and dad got into a violent fight, our lives changed forever. After you and dad split up, I watched you change from that beautiful, strong, graceful woman into something very different. I often imagine how much pain you had to be in to turn to drugs and alcohol. For many years I felt abandoned by you, and I felt replaced. You chose to live the life of a drug addict instead of the life of a mother, and for many years I resented you for that. You made sure that we always had a home, but you were never in it. You left me alone for days at a time. For so long, I wondered where you were and when you would be back until, eventually, one day, I stopped wondering. I think back on that now, and I realize something. Whichever day that was, it was the day that I had accepted this new life as my new normal. The days of hoping and praying for the old you to return had gone.

Then one day, you decided to get sober. I was so proud of you. Watching a resemblance of the woman I once knew return to me was a true gift. That’s why it was that much more devastating when we received the news from the Doctors about your diagnosis six months later. Stage 4 Lung Cancer, wow, that one was hard to hear. I thought the proudest I could ever be of you was when you got sober, but I was wrong. Seeing you fight for your life trumped that by far. The Doctors prognosis was six months. Once again, through your strength and perseverance, you lived for another three years. And you didn't just live. You relished. You chose to live every single day to the fullest. I had never seen you sober in my adult life, and It was incredible to learn who you were. We grew so close those last few years you became my best friend. That is why it is so difficult to confess this to you. I am not proud of this, but during those last years you were fighting for your life, I was being reckless with mine. I began smoking cigarettes. I was deeply ashamed of myself, so I hid it from everyone. I didn’t want to be known as the woman who was smoking cigarettes while her mom was dying from lung cancer. I am so sorry mom. I spent a long time hiding this secret from you. I carried the guilt of that heavy on my heart. I am proud to tell you that this June will make three years since I quit smoking. I vow to you and myself that I will never smoke another cigarette again.

I miss you, and I love you with my entire heart.

With all my love from your daughter