Dear Erin,

As a young parent, it seems that you are the center of the universe for those little people in your care. You are the light that they revolve around, your own little solar system. You can hardly move without them at your side - in the bathroom, in bed, on the telephone.

As they grow and move away from you, at some point you realize that each one of them is actually their own light, shining forth into the world. The loss of your importance in their lives is bittersweet, you know that they must move out into the universe and you must stay behind. And slowly the awareness dawns on you that your light travels with them, shining on into the future generation upon generation.

I have seen your brilliant light in the eyes and words of those who you touched while you were here with us. I see it in Peyton's face as she sits surrounded by paper and markers and all manner of crafty stuff, making yet one more amazing piece of art. Nick's smart-assed comebacks have your signature all over them, as does his soft-spoken kindness and sensitivity. I have witnessed the same in your sisters and brother, who all illuminate the world around them.

I am so very proud to have been a conduit for the radiance that stretches back beyond memory and forward through all of my children and into eternity.

Shine on Sweetie Bean.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Thanksgiving was hard. I really tried to focus on being thankful. Honestly, I did. We went to Bailey and Missy's for dinner. It was nice to do something different. If we had dinner here like we always do your empty chair would have been oh so obvious. Well, when we sat down to dinner and took turns saying what we were thankful for it all fell apart. Most of us said that we were thankful for the food and that we were together at Missy and Bailey's house. The food was very good, all of our favorites and a few new dishes. All I could think was, "we are not all here." And because I did not cook I didn't have all of the leftovers to make turkey pie. I really didn't think I could make it anyway without you here to fight with Tim over whether we had turkey pie or soup first. Yesterday I was at Kroger and I bought an eighteen pound turkey. Which I am going to cook tomorrow. Then I am going to make turkey pie. I don't have any idea who I am going to feed all of this turkey to, and I hope that the pie is not too salty with the tears I expect to shed while rolling out the crust. I promise to put the crust on the bottom and the top, just the way you like it. I will eat an extra large piece for you. And Tim will get his soup eventually.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Last night I dreamed that you, Nick, Peyton and I were on the beach collecting shells. You went to the restroom and when you came back you said you didn't feel well and needed to go home. The kids and I were not ready to leave the beach. The sun was shining and the water was warm. The sand was covered with shells, starfish and sand dollars and a soft breeze was coming off the ocean. I was worried that if you took the car no one else would know where we were to come back and get us. I hope that you come for us when we are ready to go home.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

We are flying to Orlando this afternoon. Nick, Peyton, Tim and me. I don't want to go without you. This was your adventure. You were so grateful and excited when we received the trip, and you waited almost a year to be able to go. You planned it and hoped like hell that you would feel good enough when the time came. We talked about getting you a motorized wheel chair at Disney because by god you were not going to miss Disneyworld. Now Tim is going in your place and I am trying to be at least a little excited about it. Maybe you planned it for us, so that we could do something fun as a family, shifting our ties to each other and forming a new kind of love between the four of us. I hope that we are able to enjoy this time together in your honor, to show Peyton how much you loved Disney, and help Nick remember the times he spent there with you. I will soak up some sun and gather shells on the beach with the kids, just as you would have. I am taking you with me, tucked in the deepest part of my heart.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

I went to The Healing Nest today. Without you. I took a box full of your bandannas and hats to share with other women who lose their hair during treatment. I hope that is okay with you. On the way there I thought about the first time we went. You were newly diagnosed, I was lost in a fog of fear about what was ahead of us. We had no idea how much we would come to love and be loved by those amazing women. Or that two years later I would be diagnosed with cancer and we would become the first mother/daughter clients at the Nest.

Trish hugged me hard and long while I cried on her shoulder. Gelina gave me a manicure and we talked about her baby, due in three months. At lunch I told our story to the women around the table, several of them were there for the first time. Teri rested her hands on my shoulders to comfort me. I wished with all my heart that you were sitting in the chair next to me, eating pumpkin soup and drinking tea.

I cried all the way home.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Tomorrow is Halloween and Peyton is going to wear the Elsa costume that you bought for her. I think every little girl on the planet is going to be either Elsa or Anna. It is of course going to be cold and rainy/snowy. Very appropriate for a Frozen themed Halloween I think.

I stayed up past my bedtime tonight making a warm fleece cape for her to wear over her costume. I am sure that the addition of this cape is going to set her apart from every other trick or treating Elsa. Notice that I am following your strict direction to "always dress her in cute clothes."

As I was cutting and sewing I thought back to all the nights I stayed up late sewing, mainly for you and your sisters. Your brother was spared most of my efforts as a seamstress. I spent many happy hours down in that little laundry room, crammed into a corner next to the ever present mountain of dirty clothes, making dresses and coats and bathing suits. I know you loved them in spite of the harassment I get from you and your sisters. I still say the matching lime green shirts and stirrup pants I made for you and Bailey were the cutest thing ever.

As soon as I finished the cape I wanted to show it to you. So here is a picture. I hope you like it. And I hope that Peyton is harassing me about it years from now.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Thanks for that spectacular find at the bottom of your bandanna bin. You know what I'm talking about.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

We took you to Lake Michigan today and cast your ashes into the water from the pier in South Haven. Tim and I, Grandpa Al, Nick and Peyton, Bailey and Missy, Kimmy, Todd and Levi were all there. It was a beautiful, warm fall afternoon. The water was calm and there was a slight breeze coming from the southwest. We each tossed a scoop of you into the waves, then Bailey emptied the rest of you from a bag that had Heart of Michigan stamped on the side. I dropped the bag in after you, along with a the picture of you that sat atop the box containing your ashes at the memorial service.

I sat on the edge of the pier crying as I watched your ashes mix with the water, flowing back and forth while the sun shone on you. There truly are no words to describe the pain in my heart, or the overwhelming gratitude for such a beautiful day with our family, playing in the sand. I know how much you love Lake Michigan. Rest in peace and joy, Sweetie Bean.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

You know how I love to organize things when I feel out of control. It's all about controlling what I can. I always feel better when I can get something in order. Remember when you first got cancer and I organized a huge garage sale to raise money for you? I couldn't cure your cancer but I could put a garage sale together. Organizing is my drug of choice.

Well I have organized the food. I have organized and reorganized the kids clothes and toys. Today I organized all of the bills that have been piling up on my desk for weeks, and actually paid them. I've even considered sorting Nick's Legos by color and size, but that would be really crazy, right? It's not working so well for me this time, though. The sorrow that is with me every minute will not be so easily tricked. I cannot organize my way out of this one. I miss you terribly.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

There are moments when I wish I could just will myself to stop breathing. The pain unbearable, indescribable, overwhelming. But my lungs continue to expand and contract, the oxygen coursing through my veins, powering my cells, fueling my brain and the images of our last days together. My life goes on while yours has ended.

Yesterday I found myself laughing hysterically at a story I was listening to on NPR. It was really very funny, something you would have appreciated. I thought to myself "how can I be laughing so hard when my daughter is dead?" Well, just as I cannot stop breathing, I cannot stop laughing or loving or any of the other things that constitute a life. I continue to eat and sleep, run errands and weep. I know that you would not want me to be swallowed up by my grief. You made damned sure that I would have a reason to get out of bed every morning. That little girl of yours snuggles up with me and says "Mamaw, can we wake up now?" I kiss the top of her head and say "yes, we can."

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Thank you for trusting me with your children. I feel inadequate to the task of raising them as well as you would have. Someone told me today that I am exactly what they need right now. Someone else told me that I will be able to help them through this because I knew you before you took your first breath. Really I think that they are exactly what I need. They are a piece of you that I can continue to cherish for the rest of my life.

There have been two complete double rainbows shining in the eastern sky in the last week. Some folks on Facebook have posted pictures and given you credit for this reminder of how beautiful the world really is. I keep thinking that some of the beauty left the world with you. My corner of the planet is darker, emptier, lonelier. I know that this will pass, that I will survive the grief somehow. But if that is you, thanks for the reminder.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Yesterday was a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I can be pretty much okay one minute then I feel as though I am drowning. My heart has been ripped from my chest yet I cannot stop breathing. People talk to me and I am expected to respond but I have nothing to offer. I kept thinking that I should call someone, but I couldn’t find the words to express my unending anguish. The person I really want to call is you. I actually called your phone a couple of days ago and told you how much I miss you.

Today was better. I took Nick to get a new phone, and a winter coat and boots. Peyton is camping out with Papa in the camper for the second night in a row. They invited the rest of us out to sit by their campfire and look at the stars.

I know that there will be many Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days and that I just have to allow the tears to flow as another wave of grief washes over me. I will try to remember that this, too, shall pass.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

On Saturday Teri texted me and said that she found a white feather on her floor. She said she took it as a sign from you. Later in the day I saw a white feather on the dining room floor. “Wow” I thought. As Bailey and Kimmy and I were looking through pictures for the memorial service we began to laugh hysterically over one picture of you. Then I started crying rather uncontrollably. I looked down and there was a white feather next to my foot. Peyton brought a white feather in from the yard on her first day back to school. She wanted to take it to school for share and tell. Another white feather showed up in the middle of the living room floor this afternoon. I may just be grasping at any evidence that you are still with us, but I believe that they are from your angel wings as you hover near.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

I was having lunch with Tim, Dad and Pat today. A friend and her elderly mother came into the restaurant and sat next to us. I couldn’t stop thinking that I will never sit across from you when I am old. I had to leave the restaurant after I hugged them both and told the mother how lucky she was to have her daughter there with her. I will miss you for the rest of my life.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

I taped a picture of you onto Peyton’s bedroom wall right next to her table and chairs. We have a tea party with you every night before bed. She is so sweet when she offers you sugar and cream and helps you eat your cookie, which is really a hair clip that she put on your plate. I sit and sip my pretend tea and look at your big blue eyes and beautiful smile. I’d give anything to have you sitting there with us, to hear your voice asking for one more cookie.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

We had a memorial service for you today. We gathered at the nature center in Grindley Lodge, where we took the kids for breakfast with Santa last December. Hundreds of people came to celebrate your life. Everyone brought food and we laughed and cried and hugged. There was a bonfire burning outside, where we wrote messages to you and threw them into the fire. I hugged your dad and told him "we made her and she was beautiful." We sat and watched the smoke carry messages into the trees on their way to you.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

I breathed you into the world on a cold February morning in 1979. You were the child we planned, your siblings all being happy surprises. You were an easy, calm, happy spirit from the very beginning. As I sat beside you, holding your hand as you took your last breaths, I began to breathe with you much as I did on the morning that you were born. The pain of childbirth was nothing compared to the soul searing agony I felt as you left us.

Love, Mom