Sunday, May 8, 2011

A Mother's Day Letter from Stephanie

One of the grief gurus on Facebook, Tom Zuba, put an exercise to do for Mother's Day on one of his posts yesterday. He said to write a letter addressed to ourselves, from our loved one who has passed on. I thought I would try it, if only to see what would spill out of my psyche while "channeling" Stephanie. Would it be blame? Guilt? Anger? I couldn't know for sure until I actually did it.

This afternoon, I sat down with a tablet and pen, and I let the words flow. Here is the result. Remember, this is not really from Stephanie ... or is it?


Mother's Day 5/8/11

Dear Mom,

I've been watching over you since the moment I died, because you always told me that if I died, you would want to die, too. I know that there have been many times since I left my body that you have prayed to be with me, that you have cried out in anger and frustration to find yourself stuck there without me. But Mom, this is your time to live.

I know that I was a handful. There was so much hurt in my life that you will never know about because I protected you from it. Sometimes the hurt was so bad inside that the only way to relieve it was to hurt myself on the outside -- by cutting myself, burning myself, or hooking myself to someone else. I know that you could never understand why I did those things, but I did. They made me feel better for a little while.

I know that you miss me, but I am all around you. Yep, that's me when you see the yellow butterflies! That's me putting thoughts in your head (or Sean's - ha! Shi'thead!) when you feel the need to blurt something out that only I would say.

That's me coming to you in dreams. I am part of you, and that part can never die. You have to trust me when I say that this life is not the end. Trust me when I say that I am always there. I see how you hurt, but I don't want you to hurt. I see how you look at my pictures. Remember me like that, smiling and happy, because that is the way I am now.

Remember, in the kitchen, that January when I hugged you and told you I loved you? Remember that. Remember when Sean and I would play Rock Band and we'd get too loud, and I would say "Sorry Mom!" into the microphone? Remember that. I gave you moments like that to keep with you always.

I didn't mean to die and leave you behind, but I can't say that I'm sorry that my pain has ended. Mom, I was always in pain - hurting in my body and in my spirit. I don't hurt anymore. Now I am peaceful, wrapped in love and gentleness. I see you keeping your promises to me, taking care of my babies. Gizmo and Lily can still see me because they have the eyes to do so. You have to see me in your dreams.

There is so much I want to tell you, but you will see when you get here -- which will be a long time from now. You have many things left to do. My time was done, but you have work to do. I will be there with you every step of the way.

I miss you, Mom, and I love you. Remember I am always as close as your thoughts. I am forever a part of you. I will not abandon you.

Your loving daughter,



Jamie said...

I would say that was ABSOLUTELY written by her. I sincerely hope this week is a good one for you. :)

Daryl said...

Hugs .. lots of hugs

Ruth D~ said...

Healing... painful and perfect. Very touching, Doris.

Sandi McBride said...

You need a you go! Warm ones!!!

Syd said...

That is beautiful. I do feel that she is still around you. I am glad that you let the words flow in this letter.