Dear Erin,

It's Mother's Day. Our first one without you. One more holiday that serves to remind us of our grief. I remember the first Mother's Day after my mom died. You kids were all little, but I couldn't reconcile myself to the idea that it was a day for me. Mother's Day was for my mom and she was gone. I had to reorder my universe, set her to the side and try to allow the loving hearts of my children to heal me.

I think your children are doing well. Nick has overcome most of his struggles at school and blossoming socially. He actually invited a friend to go to Wheatland with us. He is so excited about it. Peyton went to Kindergarten roundup a couple of weeks ago. She's so creative and independent and funny. She calls me mama quite a lot. I hope you don't mind. She talks about you often, remembering things she did with you. She'll never forget you completely. We won't let her.

We are going to the cemetery today to plant some flowers and place the bench that your friends at Garden Gate gave us. The Sexton removed the big shrub that Grandma Margie planted between the headstones to make room for the bench. We go there often and feed the birds and it will be nice to have a place to sit.

I woke up this morning wishing I could just skip the day, move on to Monday and avoid the painful reminders of who is missing from our family circle. I can't do that, though, can I? I am still mothering Bailey, John and Kimmy. Losing you has made them even more precious to me. I will accept the love and gifts that your children give me in honor of you. I will allow their sweet souls to continue to help me heal. I will help them preserve
their memories of the wonderful mother that you were to them.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Every day is hard. Some are harder than others. I can't predict which ones will be the hardest, so I just have to feel the grief as it hits me. I expected your birthday to be difficult, but the day before was actually worse. I woke up in the morning thinking "Erin's birthday is tomorrow". It was pretty much downhill from there. Your actual birthday was easier. So, you see, it's impossible to prepare for those moments and hours when I am going to fall into the black hole and have to climb back out once again.

Today I was walking through Meijer Thrifty Acres. I know you love when I call it that. I was about half way through with my grocery shopping when suddenly something, I don't know what, made me feel you so powerfully that I stopped in the middle of the aisle. I couldn't remember what I was looking for. All I could think about was you and all of the times we wandered around that store together. This same thing happens to me several times a week in random places. The weight of my grief takes over and I am paralyzed by it until I can find my way back to the reality of the task at hand. I just wanted to abandon my cart and find a place to sit and cry, but it's kind of like when I am driving down the road and someone sends me a text. I pull over to the side of the road and answer the text if necessary. Then I merge back into traffic and continue on my way. So after wandering aimlessly for a couple of minutes I pushed my cart to the side and pretended to study my grocery list as I let the feelings wash over me. I read once about a woman who stood sobbing in the aisle at the grocery store, looking at a display of her deceased son's favorite soda pop. I can totally relate to that.

It's been four and a half months since you died. People try and tell you that it gets easier, but I don't believe it. I think you just learn to live with sorrow as your constant companion.

Love, Mom

Dear Erin,

Your sisters and I went had our annual play and dinner birthday celebration today. We went to Chelsea to the Purple Rose. We saw Steel Magnolias. Rememer when you first got sick and I said I was never watching that fucking movie again, even though it was one of my all time favorites? And then you kept watching it every time it came on t.v. Well, we thought that it was quite a coincidence that the cast at the Purple Rose was performing THAT play just when we would be celebrating our birthdays. And we all agreed that we probably had to go. So we did.

The first really hard thing for me was at intermission when we asked an usher to take our picture, like we always did. She took about five shots before she got one of me smiling because I was trying not to cry. You were not going to be in the picture with us for the first time since we started this tradition. The play was so well done, the dialog true to the movie. We all cried. A lot. We shopped a little and had dinner at the Common Grill. And we talked about you. We laughed and cried some more and were glad that we carried on with our treasured tradition even though it was bittersweet. I feel sure that you chose the play for us, and you were there crying and laughing right along with us.

Love, Mom

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