Year Two: Dear Mom, a letter to you on your birthday.

Dear Mom,I miss you. Two years ago today was the last time I saw you face to face and hugged you for the last time. It seems like a faint memory now - like a strange dream. People say grief has stages - but I've come to know that the "stages" are not linear like we'd like them to be. We want grief to be over at some point because it hurts so much- and because it has the ability to wreck us in an instant and out of the blue. The reality is, "closure" is just a myth when it comes to deep loss.Today I feel a bit numb - not many tears like last year on this day. Maybe it's because I'm back to the denial stage or just disbelief. Maybe it's because I've cried a lot of tears this year without you.This was my first year as a mother - in the real sense of the word. We entered into the foster care world in March, 2016, and since then I've mothered four boys under the age of two. There were so many days, so many moments that I needed you here. I needed to ask you how you managed through the crying and sleepless nights and exhausting days. I wanted desperately to call you and have you come by to hold the baby while I tried to work from home. I know that you would have adored "R" and "Baby C". Baby C was definitely a "Pie Face" as you lovingly called the chubby babies you'd see.They would have loved you, too.I also desperately wanted you to walk with me through the embryo adoption process, I know you would have been thrilled at the possibility of me carrying and delivering our adopted babies, and I'm sorry we didn't try it sooner while you were still here. But as I think you know, the first time didn't work. I know you would have cried with me and encouraged me to keep trying. I know you would have championed us to keep hoping and to not give up.A dear friend gave me a packet of little letters when you died. They've been a source of encouragement and reminders through the years. The one I opened today read this;"Grief is like the night of the soul. All seems swallowed up in darkness, the light of a pale and meaningless moon. Sometimes the only way to let go of the darkness is to express it. Write it out. Paint or draw. Take photos. Do something when you feel the darkness. Make the darkness something that gives light. Real, bright, pure light. And when you are just too sad to make light, remember that God holds you and doesn't judge you for the darkness. He will walk you through it step by step." -Teryn O'BrienI've known this to be true over the last year. God has held me and continues to walk me through, step by step. And the beautiful thing is, you know this. You know God's deep and profound love - even more-so now. You're dwelling in Light and Love and you're free of all grief and sadness now. I'm not sure how it works, and I'm not sure how long it will be until I see you again, but I wait for that with expectant hope.On this second year without you, I've experienced being a mother for a little bit. I've even experienced the hope (and fear) of carrying a baby or two in my own womb. And wow, did my heart of gratitude for you grow even larger. It's hard work. It's exhausting and self-sacrificing work. I want to thank you (again and again) for loving me and being such a nurturing and selfless mother in my young years. Thank you for loving me and others so well. I only hope to carry on that legacy as long as I'm here.I love you and miss you, always.Love,Your Daughter