i just miss you ... that's all

Dear Mom,

I miss you. So much. In a way that profoundly changes me. Urging me to be a better person, a more patient mother, a rainbow in someone else's storm. But it's hard.

Things are so crazy right now. Quarantine life. You're missing out. Or not. Although, I'm sure you and Ralph would have made the most of it and perhaps watched many movies that you had forgotten you had already seen. Ha.

those shoulder pads!

There have been a handful of things that have happened recently, just in time for Mother's Day, that have kept you on the forefront of my mind.

First, I've been catching up on my Teen Mom OG. Yes, you are rolling your eyes. But, someone recently asked me if I took parenting classes before I had J1. I did not. I watched a bunch of Teen Mom and figured if they could do it, I could, as a married, thirty-something with two post-grad degrees, definitely be a mom. This show still does its part in making me feel better about my parenting skills (or lack thereof).

In a recent episode, one of the women loses her mom to cancer. The series documented her last year or so. It felt like reliving 2000-2001 all over again. That moment when you know the time has come and you must prepare for the end. I remember that moment. I was sitting on the couch looking out at the lake. You had just gotten off the phone with Dr. Olson, who had given you his opinion on your scans. The cancer was everywhere and there was nothing left to do. And yet, I wasn't prepared for the end. I didn't know how to be. Even now, in hindsight, I don't know what I could have done differently. Perhaps you just can't be prepared. Maybe you were though.

Second, this turned up in my Pinterest feed today. You don't even know what Pinterest is. It's a time suck. It will not suck more of your time than TikTok, but it will also make you laugh a lot less.

But this. Every. single. damn. day. I try. Truly I do. I want to be the mom for J1 and J2 that you were to David and me. The best kind of mom. And to be honest, I barely even come close. You had the patience I lack. The desire to teach that I admire, and a way of holding us all together with Christmas cards, stroganoff, and Swedish meatballs.

she's unleashing a heinous gelatin salad in this photo

Liane, your hair is enviable. Truly enviable.

You were everything to everyone and you managed it with a grace that I cannot even fathom. I honestly don't recall a time when you were so stressed out that you just couldn't deal with us. Maybe those moments existed, but I don't remember them. I kind of secretly hope that this is the case and my kids won't remember the tears and stress etched into every inch of my face. Particularly, over the last month as we've struggled to figure out how to distance learn and work from home. Maybe because we're moms we always have that "I got this" look, even when we have no idea what the fuck we are doing.

Finally, you've been gone for nearly 19 years. I think that's correct. Just today, a friend was telling me about something her parents did and I felt like I couldn't relate because it wasn't something you would have done ... but maybe it was and I just can't remember. Sometimes I wonder if I misremember things that happened because the grief and loss that this world suffered when you left swallows up any memories and just leaves a rosy glow of romanticism. Maybe that's what is supposed to happen. But it terrifies me to think that I can't or won't remember things accurately. Because those memories are all we have left. There will not be anymore made.

Oh, and maybe you've already seen him, but Dad left us last fall too, in a most unexpected way. Please give him a hug for me, if you do run across him. I miss him so so much too. You probably knew all the things in his obituary that I did not because you were there for much of it.

None of this gets easier. This year feels particularly hard because it's so. damn. weird. But I guess the depth of my grief means there was and still is great love. I'd really like to talk to you. I just miss you. That's all.

All my love,

Nina