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