Dear Mom,

This has been the longest I have ever gone in my life without seeing you or speaking with you. It is still hard to believe that you are gone. It has been strange without your presence or hearing your voice or getting a hug or a pick-me-up pearl of encouragement from you, but I am lucky in that I did get to have you in my life for so long. And you were so so sick, and so miserable, I am relieved to know you are no longer suffering with that awful disease anymore. That was no way to live, and you knew it, deep down.

So I'm pretty much okay, and Dad seems to be doing better, too. Though he has taken your death the hardest, I believe. He was so miserable, as you probably know, but he has been having private and group bereavement counseling, which seems to ease some of his sadness. He has been attending church and free  CHF information classes at the hospital. He's trying his best to eat well and exercise. And he spends a lot of time reading books and on the internet. And he's joined eHarmony. I know, you don't know what that is, but it's an internet dating site. He answered a whole bunch of questions about himself and they find matches for him. He gets updates everyday with more prospective connections. He seems to really enjoy that.

Today, he is meeting one of the women he's met on an earlier "senior dating" website (that's he's since unjoined). She lives only a couple of towns over and owns a B&B, and after many emails over the last few months, he's gone over to her B&B today to meet in person. She's going to make him scones and coffee. Though the whole thing is a little weird for me, I do so want him to be happy again. You know as much as I that he needs a woman to share his life with. I don't think today's woman will be her, but at least he'll be distracted from losing you today. And hopefully he'll make a new friend, anyway.

So, as I promised you that last day I saw you alive, when I kissed you goodbye as you were laying in your death bed at the Hospice House, knowing I might not see you alive again (though you were barely coherent at that point), I have been trying my best to keep an eye on Dad, as well as my siblings. Though, I have to admit, I've been so preoccupied with Dad and my own life, that I'm not as good about my siblings. As you know, we did all meet for your committal ceremony on September 24th. Everybody seemed to be handling themselves quite well, actually. We did our best to make you proud, and I'm sure you were.

Since that day, there has been a feeling of closure. You are know "home" again, with your mother and your father by your side. And we here still alive are carrying on, just as you would expect, I believe. I think of you often. Sometimes I remember that last few dark weeks, and that brings on the tears. But then other times, I'll remember us driving over to New Hampshire to go shopping, and how you talked about how much you loved the mountains. Or I'll hear a snippet of your voice, singing or reciting a poem. Or your laughter.

We've tried our best to keep your gardens up. Hasn't been easy. I've tried my best to keep your house up. We got the porches re-stained finally, and next summer the house will be painted. I've been driving your truck around a little, mostly just small trips to the dump and local shopping. I visit Dad almost daily.

We miss you Mom. I miss you.
Love,
Me