It has been 18 years since you left this earth for a life without pain. A life without the hazy cloud of pain killers. A life where you are healthy. A life where cancer doesn't exist. I'm not going to lie; the past week has been hard. I've had a hard time trying to keep my emotions in check while at work. I had an assignment for my English class where we had to choose a personal experience that changed my life. You are part of my story and I cried at the memories that I had neatly stored away.
I have these walls up to protect me from being hurt. There have been precious few people who have seen the walls completely down. I was ill equipped for life after you. Instead of asking for help, I built walls. Sometimes I wish I was more of a wear-your-emotions-on-your-sleeve kind of person, the kind of person who was a little less reserved. I don't wear my annoyance or are-you-kidding-me faces well...at all...like ever. You could always tell what I was feeling even though I was hard to read sometimes. But I am grateful that you didn't push me to be extroverted that way. You let me be me.
You were my safe place, my safe haven. I could always, always count on you. I lost trust in people for a long time because they weren't as invested as you were.
I wish I could remember the sound of your voice. I wish I could remember a lot of things about you. There are random little memories that pop up and it surprises me how much I still miss you. If I let myself sit still long enough, I can almost hear you, but it is always just out of reach.
Mom, I wish you were here. I wish so many things to be different, but I know that I am who I am because you aren't here. I've learned to have more compassion for people and believe in their humanity because you believed in me. I learned that sometimes going without a comfort item isn't the end of the world because you taught me through the example of your childhood. I learned that family is everything. They are everything.
I love you.
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