You have come back into my dreams lately. Thank you. It’s Mother’s Day and I am thinking of you.
I missed you in my dreams, and for the last thirty years, I have missed your hugs and smile, your encouraging voice, your physical presence in my world. I have missed our weekly calls and letters. I have missed you.
I will never forget the summer of 1992. Fred, Sara and I were vacationing in Spain, our yearly trip to visit dear friends and practice Spanish. On July 14, the doorbell of our rental unit rang and a young man handed me a telegram. I had to call my brother.
Frenetic, I finally found a phone and then nearly collapsed on the ground upon hearing the news. You had had a heart attack the evening before while attending an opening exhibit at the Cleveland Art Museum. Charlie had seen you in the hospital at 11PM; the doctors assured him you would be fine.
You clearly had other plans. At 3AM, you died of a massive heart attack. Mom, I have always felt grateful that you left so quickly. However, I was devastated and in complete shock. All the way back to our unit, in the middle of the quiet Spanish afternoon, I screamed at the top of my lungs, NO NO NO NO.
When I got back to our door, I stopped. I could not scare our little daughter who was just recovering from an illness. So I did what I always saw you do. I stuffed every single emotion deep inside me, took a calming breath, and entered to share the news with my family.
Mom, I wasn’t ready then, and I am not sure I am ready now. For eight years, I wrote letters to you—letters through the veil that separates us—always asking that you stay by my side. Now I know that you are right here. But I want to go back to writing because I still love and miss you, Mom.
Even though I cannot see or hug you now, you will always hold a special place in my heart. Happy Mother’s Day!