She Who is Brave is Free

God saw she was getting tired

And a cure was not to be,

So He put His arms around her

And whispered, “Come with Me.”

With tearful eyes we watched her suffer

And saw her fade away,

Although we loved her dearly

We could not make her stay.

A golden heart stopped beating

Hard working hands to rest,

God broke our hearts to prove to us

He only takes the best.

Hey Mama,

It's been a little over a week since you left us. I knew I was going to be sad when you passed away, but what I wasn't expecting was this hole I feel in my chest - this weight that doesn't seem to go away. I am constantly cycling through different emotions and I'm having a difficult time coping.

I'm angry. I'm angry at God for thinking this was the best plan. That He felt it was best to take away the promise of your life, to take a mother away from Jake, Sarah and me, to take Dad's wife and Finn's grammy. How could that be the best plan? How could leaving so many people heartbroken in your absence be what is best for you? For us? In the last few weeks you kept telling me, "Faith one way or the other." And, believe me, I'm trying really hard to have faith, but it's hard. I am also angry at your stupid doctor who missed the fact that you had cancer in your brain, even when you told him. I don't know what to do with my anger against him but it's there.

Someone recently told me that knowing your cancer was terminal would give me a chance to live without regret. I looked at that piece of information as sort of a silver lining as that is what it certainly seemed like at the time... I told you I love you every time I left and I had the opportunity to reiterate to you how proud I was of your courage and strength. And I would tell people, "You know, I get a chance to tell her how I feel before it's too late." So yeah, I thought I was living without regret. Turns out I was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

What I always come back to were those Saturday mornings a few years back when you and Grandma would go to breakfast and then shopping for the day. You always invited me, but at the time, 7:30 am seemed like the most ungodly hour, and I frequently chose sleep over time I could have spent with you. I wonder now how that made you feel and I cry a little every time I think about it. I come back to all those petty arguments I had with you over stupid things, like cleaning my room or going through my junk mail. I am sad about all the missed opportunities to spend time with you, to hear your experiences, and I'm sad about all the times I said, "MOM. You've already told us that story a million times." What I would give to hear those same stories one more time.

I'm jealous of everyone who still has their moms around. Nathan and I ran some errands on Saturday and we stopped at Applebees for lunch. I swear, it must have been mother-daughter day there. I wish we could have lunch again. I'm jealous of Nathan whose mom is still here for him. I'm jealous of all the people who look at me or our family and try to sympathize, but most have no idea what this is like. Yeah, I'm insanely jealous of people who don't know what this sort of pain feels like.

I'm trying really hard to look at the positives, though. I know that's what you would have done, and it's probably what you're expecting us to do. You did a hell of a job raising our family to be strong, and we're certainly all trying to do that now. We have an amazing daddy, and I have a wonderful brother and sister in whom I find comfort. There was also never a question about how much you loved us. I know you would have gone to the ends of the Earth for each and every one of us. The question is, did you know I felt the same? Probably not, and that tears me up too.

The last time I really got to see you I was rolling you around the halls of Lexington. I had absolutely no idea that would be the last conversation I would have with you, but I will forever remember it and the promise I made to you. You told me you loved me. I told you that I loved you too, and you asked me to make sure Finn didn't grow up not knowing who you are. I was sort of taken aback that particular conversation was happening but I assured you that would never be the case. Mom, I will always stand by that promise. You may not be here with us physically, but Finn will always know who you are. He will be well aware of the most amazing grammy he never got to know.

We've looked at a million pictures since you died. I wish we could have looked at them together to talk about them - did you know you had the most incredible smile? Besides that, what was also evident in every picture was the amazing mother you were to us. You are the example of what moms should be, and I will strive every day to be that kind of mom to my kids, even though I'm sure I'll never live up to you.

I don't know if this hole I'm feeling will ever go away. I've been told that it won't but that I'll find a way to cope with it. Until then, I guess I'll have to deal with the thoughts I have of you. I think about you all the time. The other day I bought some birthday cake M&Ms and caught myself thinking that I needed to save some for you to try. You would have loved them. I think about you when I'm rocking Finn in the glider you bought us, since "My grandbaby needs to be rocked." Or when I see the wicked witch is going to be on "Once Upon a Time." You are everywhere I look. In the wind as it blows the coconut windchime hanging from my pergola, in the lights that flicker in my house, in the sunshine that warms my face...

Thank you, Mom, for always being the mother I needed, even when I wasn't the daughter you deserved. You were so strong, especially throughout your battle, but now you don't have to suffer anymore. I am proud of you, and I am proud to be YOUR daughter. I love ya always, and I'll forever carry you in my heart.

Love Always,

Angie