I can't believe it's been more than a year since you passed away. But then, sometimes I still can't believe you're not here anymore. You've been on my mind recently, so I wanted to let you know about some of the things you're missing out on.
I wish you
could see how the girls have grown—one of whom you were never even able to meet. It's such a shame you never got that chance...you would have adored her. She is so
easily loveable, with her chubby little thighs and her bright, two-tooth smile. At almost a year old, she's talking away in a language that only she can understand, pointing at objects, standing and cruising. She's so close to
walking, but she hasn't yet found the courage to let go. Even so, she's constantly getting into mischief and is so curious about the world around her. Although I'm ready to go back to work, that separation is going to be hard...she's a real mama's girl.
C is three now, if you can believe it. Smart as a whip, independent and full of energy, she's definitely your grandchild. She can be willful and hard to manage sometimes, but she's also hilarious. The other day, she said to me, "Mommy, I love your eyeballs." You would have been so entertained by her creativity and imagination, the songs and stories she comes up with. Next year,
she'll be going to school. I look at photos of her as a newborn and I barely
recognize her, she's changed so much.
I have to be honest: I'm still mad that things didn't turn out as I had planned. Moving to Oakville was supposed to mean that we would go over to your place for Sunday dinners. You and Dad were supposed to lounge around our pool with us this summer and take the girls to the park. You were supposed to call me about the bargains you'd found at Winners and give me parenting advice that I would roll my eyes at but secretly appreciate.
Instead, there's an absence in our lives: an empty place at the table for Christmas dinner; a picture in C's photo album that she doesn't remember; a card I had no one to send to on Mother's Day. Although we work around it, I suspect that absence will always be there.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you. Sometimes I wonder what you would think of the life and family I've been building. It's not perfect—I'm not perfect—but I hope you'd be proud of it, and of me.
And I wish you were here.