Twenty-Eight years ago I gave birth to what would be my only child. Seventeen year’s later just one month shy of her eighteenth birthday she returned to heaven.

On this day, November 30th I sit and wonder who she might have become. A fashion designer, a teacher, a poet, an artist. I can only dream of that now. I have some idea because I knew her passions and what she believed in. She believed in the basic right of a human being regardless of ethnicity or religion. She did not see color. We raised her that way. She championed those who were disabled. She would put herself out there in a public way just to make a stranger feel welcome. I should of known that would have been my daughter in her teen years because as a five year old she would stand at the end of our driveway and using her Fisher Price Sing-a-Long she would put in her favorite cassette tape “Lift Jesus Up” and would sing her heart out to anyone passing by. That was her true spirit. 

It wasn’t to be for her. God had other plans. Not sure I will ever understand that but I’ve handed that over to God a long time ago. Otherwise I’d have never survived her death. I have learned to live my life like I think she would have – full out enjoying life and not really caring what other people think. Just to be free to help others and to lift those up who can’t lift themselves up.

I have very big shoes to fill and when I feel down or sad, I know I get this gentle nudge from her saying “not now mom – there is work to do” “love your life and spread that love around”. That is what I hear her saying to me. It doesn’t help my loneliness for her, but it does give me the strength I need to keep marching forward. One foot in front of the other and when I get that tap on the shoulder or that whisper in my ear – I know she is guiding me to my next adventure.

I am blessed to have been her mother. And for that reason my pain is great. But the equalizer is love and when you have love in your life – it softens the blow of loss and it keeps me from sinking too far into the abyss called sorrow. I miss her more that any words on paper could describe but until I find a way to translate it – I’ll just keep blogging.

Until next time,

M