Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

A few nights before you passed away, I had a dream about Grandpa and he told me that I shouldn’t worry about your cancer; that you were going to be okay. At the time, I thought he was telling me that you were going to be okay because you were going to get better, but in hindsight, I realize that he was telling me that you were going to be okay because he was going to be there for you. For very selfish reasons, I really wish the first had been true. But since that is not how this turned out, I do feel a bit better knowing that you are with your dad. Now that you have passed away, I understand how badly you missed him after he died.

Last night at your visitation, I realized how many lives you touched with your kindness and your friendship. I realized that you were the person who wove the strings of so many relationships. Now that you are gone, who is going to keep us all connected? Pam Rhode and I were talking about this last night and when I got home last night she had emailed me and said that she nominated me as the person from our Minneapolis neighborhood to do that, but honestly mom, I wouldn’t even know how to start that task. It takes years and years, along with purposeful intent to keep relationships together like that.

When I tell people about our old neighborhood, I tell them to imagine those days when neighbors got together on the front step or on the porch to drink coffee or iced tea, where the moms all hung out and exchanged stories and laughed with one another while the kids played together in the yard. When on hot evenings, before everyone had air-conditioning, that cooling down wasn’t about the temperature but about how we ended the day with each other. Those days are some of the best memories of my childhood, and without you, I never would have had that experience. It was you and Karen Rhode who brought us together all of those evenings.

Sarah Macklin was also here last night, and she told me that every year you have written personalized notes in every Christmas card you sent her for the last twenty years, and that each Christmas she looked forward to getting that card to know how we were all doing. Mom, I had no idea you were doing that. Sarah and I had been best friends when we lived in Lakeville, and even though I got too busy, you held a thread there for the family. Last night when she was here, I realized that because of the relationship you sustained, that my best friend from high school was still my friend. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.

It also reminded me that a few years ago, I missed a family function because I had to work, and you very bluntly told me that my priorities were messed up. You told me that work was just that; work, but that it was family and friends who mattered. At the time, I was slightly insulted. I heard you, but until now, I didn’t get it. These last few weeks, however, have shown me what you meant. It is family and friends that make the rest of what we do worthwhile.

These last few months, while you were sick, you told me that I had to make sure that Ann, Craig and I didn’t let anything push us apart. You told me that I had to make sure that Ann knew she was loved by all of us and to make sure that Craig didn’t work himself to death. I remember telling you that I would do my best, but that you didn’t need to worry about that because you would be here. Now, I think that you knew what was going to happen even then.

In some ways, I wonder if you knew even before you found out you had cancer. It would explain why, in the last few years, you systematically cataloged every photo you had ever taken into a series of albums that would make any historian envious. It would also explain why, for the last few years, you found each and every living thing valuable, well, except for box-elder bugs, they were definitely the exception. But your garden and yard have become sanctuaries for birds, deer, and even an albino squirrel. It’s a good thing Dave has a green thumb like you do, because as you know, if it weren’t for you the plants in my house would have dried up a long time ago. Of course, now that I am nearly 40, I have actually learned how to see the signs of a plant that needs water.

Mom, it’s so hard to imagine life without you in it everyday. You’ve taught me so much about living life, about family, and about priorities; it’s not going to be the same without you to call everyday. Can you talk to God about getting email addresses in heaven?

I really don’t know how to end this letter to you. I am not ready to say goodbye.

I love you Mom, and I miss you so much. I hope you know how important you have been and still are to me. I’ll do my best to make you proud and to carry on the traditions you have created in our lives. I won’t be able to do it like you did, but I’ll do what I can.

Leisa