Subject: We need to sit down and talk

from: marias_haven@heaven.com

to: rheyannesars5774322@gggmail.co

Subject: We need to sit down and talk

Dear Anne,

I see it in your eyes as you bring your lips to the bedside coffee mug, to taste the dregs inside. The slight tremor in your fingers, the half-smile as you realize you have woken up to another day in your life. The panic with which you view your white blanket. The deep-seated melancholy as you toast the bread, spreading the butter, as you think of the fuss you used to create over marmalade. How you long for your friends yet fear their sympathy. How your face crumbles as relatives keep sending condolence messages, reopening fresh wounds every time you try to seal them. How hot tears spill freely as you listen to Justin’s “Hold on”, as you finally understand the lyrics, wishing you could not. How helpless you look, when you fight with Dad, as if he were the reason I died. I feel it when you walk down the streets, fighting the terror and anger as you see people gather, mask-less. How you sift through my clothes, trying to smell the fragrance of my Chanel Coco Mademoiselle Eau de Parfum, hoping to get some stimulation. How your eyes flash for a second as you lash out at Mark, and shroud in guilt and self-disgust as you sense the shock he feels. How you fear losing another loved one.

I don’t just see it, dear. I feel it.

But that’s not how I want you to remember me.

I want you to remember how we used to create snowmen in the ice, with Andy and his sister. How I taught you to play chess and how you used to throw tantrums, flipping the board over when you lost. How we used to tease Dad about his secret Celine Dion album collections. How we used to laugh over young Sheldon’s antics. How we used to argue about which was better - Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia or Half Baked? We never really decided, did we? How we used to slouch on the sofa, watching Stranger Things, while Dad’s snoring gave perfect background score. How we played with Ruffle in the lawn, wishing Dad would allow pets in the house. How you hated going to the dentists. How I used to bribe you with ice cream. How we used to dress up for Halloween, scaring the hell out of Dad with our special effects. How we used to ridiculously dance to Cheap thrills- steps mismatched, yet in perfect sync. How you used to visit the patients, and almost had the management sack me after you jumbled up the medicine bottles. How we spent days in the hospital, after Dad’s nasty fall. How we prayed together in Church after the incident, smiling through our tears. How we used to take turns at scolding Dad for his increasing diabetes levels. How we tried to count the stars from our balcony, just like we counted our blessings. How we used to gorge over hamburgers, all while playing Trivial Pursuit. How we both cried when you experienced your first heartbreak.

How we always had each other’s back as a family.

Chin up, dear. Dad needs you right now. He is devastated, and ignoring others in the wake of your own sorrow wouldn’t do any good. Have a good old chat, just like the ones we used to have, every evening. Cook his favorite Sourdough bread, he needs it. Check his blood sugar levels, they weren’t so good the day I left the house for the final time. (I can’t believe I am still worrying about that man, even after death.)

Forgive me, but I must say you are being an awful girlfriend right now. I’m sorry, but you know how much I hate this. The poor guy’s confused, not knowing what to do with a girl who recently lost her mother. Should he call her up and give her advice on how to cope? He knows better than that. Should he hold back for some time and give her some space? No, she might need someone to talk to, he can’t hold back now. Call her immediately, checking on her every few hours? That would be irritating, not comforting. Gift her something, attempting to cheer her up? That would be insensitive and selfish.

What should he do now?

Wait for his girl to text him or call him and allow him to share some of her grief.

Check on your neighbors, check on your friends. They are not abandoning you; they are respecting your personal space. Trust me when I say you can count on them.

Now dear, I am not trying to be overbearing. I can feel the pain, insecurity, panic, loneliness, and helplessness as you come to terms with your loss.

It is fine. When Mama says something’s fine, you know it's alright. It’s okay to cry and feel betrayed. Yet you should know when to wipe your tears, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and get back in the saddle.

Cause you never know when you are handed an hourglass by God, when you would feel a time bomb ticking within you.

I died protecting the people I love, my fellow citizens. Out of my own free will. I wear that badge with honor, not with malice. I died in the company of my own community of angels. I am in a happier, better place now. My life is fulfilled.

Now it’s up to you, dear. Whether you languish away in the shadows of the house or appreciate the sunlight streaming up your driveway every single morning. Whether you dwell in the dreary past or confront the hazy future.

Smile in the face of adversity, like I did. Be brave, as I was. Like I know you would be.

You are your mother’s daughter, after all.

Now it’s up to you.

Whether you move on, or whether you hold back like those stubborn dregs, stained, and wasted away.

YOU have a choice to make.

Wherever you go, whatever you do, remember I am always there for you, watching over you, in ways you would never realize.

Coz that’s what Moms got to do.

Yours lovingly,

Mamma