One Year
Dear Mom,
Last year on this day, I was knee deep in joy and babies; and headed into 2022 with hope in my pocket and my heart on my sleeve. Cohen was five years old 👆🏻, and you had just mailed us a thank you card from your Christmas stay with a $50 bill and a message: “You are doing the best job with my grandchildren. Please use this to buy something for Cohen for his birthday.” It would be your last letter to us.
On January 26th, the day before he would turn six, you would get a diagnosis; and weeks later, I would hold your hand while you died. I had never even seen you sick. One year ago today, my life was changed forever.
Mom, I still can’t believe it. We’ve marked the year the only way we know how – with goals, and adventure, with joy, with intense despair, grief, and with six of our birthdays (tomorrow, it will be all seven). These birthdays mark ages you’ll never hug us, help blow out our candles, or send us your beautifully written cards and checks in the mail: a lost art. I (SO) love that you had a flip phone – and did not know what Venmo was. 🤍
Liv turned one in July, right next to your beloved mountains. I felt like all of my skin was gone – that I couldn’t breathe, and that I would never walk again. You were supposed to share a birthday celebration. The grief was so big – AND I buried my head in my miracle baby’s neck, full of gratitude for a tiny, perfect life.
Monroe kicked off the August birthdays by turning nine at Cinnamon Shore. She was surrounded by cat gifts and ice cream for breakfast. She has held my head up all the nights I’ve been lost without you. She holds my broken heart.
Kevin rang in 39 beside Blair who turned four with a mermaid party, an epic slide, and so many friends and family we hold close. He’s never seen this version of me; but he helps to hold my grief and captains this (sometimes sinking 🫠) ship. Blair would continue to “tickle” you – she is hilarious – and is everything happy and sparkly and “great”. She still tells me she misses you every day.
We explored Vermont, New Hampshire, and ended at a lighthouse in Maine on my 39th birthday: 10/22/22. ❤️ I don’t know how your lipstick tube ended up in my makeup bag – but it was a treasure and you were close, I know it. I’ll always be your baby; and I feel so lost and little, and untethered from all of life without you.
Harper turned eleven in November – you’d be so proud of her. In so many ways she IS you. She makes sure every prayer is said, and understands the importance of making a bed. She has been our biggest helper (per your charge) – and your death has changed her perspective on life in so many ways.
So here we are, the last of the birthdays for us. Your “handsome” Coh-man “He’s my man” will be seven tomorrow. He still sleeps with his animal blanket. He’s brilliant, and compassionate, and still “so handsome”. When Blair broke my precious nativity (you know the Avon one), he sobbed with me: “How can we possibly do Christmas without Grandma Bette?”
We did it. We’ve walked it. We’ve somehow found a way to continue on without you. I feel, somewhere deep down, that you have helped us get here. 110 collective years of us; and there will be more. 🎂 I asked Blair what her favorite thing about Grandma Bette was, and she pointed at me and said: “YOU!” 🤍
We will keep going today and every day, and you will live on, with each passing year, in all of us. I can’t wait to feel your cold fingers on my face again.
Love,
your favorite daughter 🤍