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