Letters to Momma-6- 9/11/2019

Momma,

5 years. 5 years since the last time I held your hand and you held mine back. 5 years since I laid my head on your lap and felt the security and comfort only you can give. 5 years since I shared with you my worries and stresses and got to hear you tell me it was all going to be ok and that I can get through anything. 5 years since, well, so many, many things that the list could just go on forever. 5 years since, most simply put, I’ve been blessed with your presence. It’s been the slowest and fastest 5 years. Hard days have creeped by and beautiful moments have tried to sneak past me in the blink of an eye. Wish it was the other way around. But like Jackie said in her post -they say time heals all wounds, they just forget to mention the scars that get left. Things have gotten better, easier, for lack of a better word. There has been a lot of life lived and loved in these 5 years and I know you’d be so proud of us all. We’ve fought long and hard for our chance to love, smile, and laugh. We’ve fought long and hard for the moments that make this life worth living. We’ve fought long and hard. Just like you taught us to. Your legacy is EVERYTHING. You weren’t much for the “special talks” after your diagnosis. You weren’t, even for a second, going to entertain the concept that you werent gonna make it. If we tried to sneak in any conversation hinting towards anything but victory you'd cut it off right quick. You wouldn’t speak about what you would want at your funeral, nothing. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I have to admit, towards the end, I really wanted that conversation. I think it had something to do with the suddenness of Pops’ death, that I felt we were given the warning this time so we could get to say certain things that we’d all wished we would of been able say with him. But, alas, you were the boss applesauce and what you said went. I really thought man I’m gonna regret this. You were right though. You always were. You knew what you were doing, you always had a plan. Truth is, we had a life time of those talks. Days before you passed and you weren’t communicating anymore, Aunt Dereen came to the apartment to say her goodbyes and let us know that you had her write some things down and she was to share it with us when the time came. She said your Momma wants “My Wish” by Rascal Flatts played at the funeral. That was your last living message to us. Your kids, your grandkids. And it was perfect. And on the hard days, it’s always just what I need to hear. Like Joey said in her post “The best tribute to your enthusiasm for life is to approach any challenges you have through rose colored glasses, make plans in the near future with your “motley crew,” cheer loudly for your team and listen to music that moves you.” Here’s to the music that moves us and the conversation I still have with you Momma.
~~~ Momma, the days don’t always go easy nor the moments pass slow, but sometimes, sometimes they do. And thanks to you, we trust that each road will lead us where we’re meant to go. And when we’re faced with a hard choice and forced to choose. We always choose the one the means the most to us. If one door opens to another door closed, we keep on walking till we find a window. We never give up, we’re just like you. When it’s cold outside, we do our best to show the world the warmth of our smile. But more than anything, yea more than anything... You’re wish for us is what keeps us fighting to make this life all that we want it to be. Keeping our dreams big and our worries small. And we never carry more than we can hold because if the load gets heavy we do it together. And while we are down here getting where we’re going to, we hope you know these somebodies still love you and still want the same things too. We miss you
Glad you’re mine

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