Dear Mom, on year nine without you.

Dear Mom,

I've written this letter to you a hundred times over the last few months. I changed and edited. I added words and cut out paragraphs. I debated whether or not I should share it with the world or keep it to myself.
Let's just say it was a heavily thought out blog post.

But, in the end, I decided that I can't let this week go by without saying something.
Something to remember you.
Something to remind everyone that you lived so fully, that you loved so generously.
That you were such a light in the world.

So mom, this week, on Friday, will make for year number nine without you.
In some ways it feels like yesterday that you left. There are memories from that day, from that week of my ten year old life that I will never forget. Trying desperately to be grown up, to talk to whoever was at our house, to be fine, to not cry. And melting down, alone, in my bathroom because I realized that no one reminded me that I needed to wash my hair that night, I suddenly had to remind myself.

In other ways, it feels like so much longer than nine years. Some nights I struggle to remember your laugh, or your voice. I blur memories together of when you were here and when you were gone.

And for the record, all those people who say it gets "easier" are wrong. Yes, eventually you do adjust to the new normal. But overall, it's just as hard.
I miss you just as much today as I did nine years ago.

It's hard mom. Being here without you is hard. Growing up without you was and is hard.
I have so many questions. Things 10-year-old Alana never thought to ask, but 19-year-old Alana wishes she knew. Things about boys, and friendships, and what you did at my age, and how hard did you study for exams, and what was your favorite meal to cook, and so many little things that don't matter but yet matter so much all at the same time.

There are so many things you've missed out on that I wish you would've seen. Getting my braces off. Learning how to drive. Working at EFM. Junior and Senior prom. Learning that I love to cook. Graduating high school. Moving to college. Joining KD. Making the best of friends. Working in Clarkston. Finding a church that I love.

And instead I avoid the question of where you are at events. I dance around the awkward questions of visiting you. I smile when someone says that their mom's phone call annoyed them.

Mama, it's hard. That's just the cold truth of it.
I want to call you and tell you about my day. I want to ask your opinions on my formal dress. I want to know if you think it's a good idea for me to take one class over another but instead I rely on others, others who pick up the phone no matter the time of night and love me so well, but mom, I wish it was you instead of a cool marble stone when I tell you what's going on in my life between tears.

I miss you mom, your smile, the way you aimlessly doodled on notepads, the way you hugged me goodnight, but I also miss the idea of the life we could've had.
It's hard to fathom what could've been.

And Mom, even though most of this letter to you is probably horribly depressing, I just needed to share it. I needed to tell you.

But there are some other things I want you to know too.

Mom, it is because of you that I am incredibly compassionate for those in my life.

It is because of you I try so hard to love well.

It is because of you I choose my words carefully.

It is because of you I try hard to take advantage of every single moment.

It is because of you that I end my conversations with those closest to me by saying love you, because I never want to regret my last words to those I truly love.

Mama, I want you to know I try so hard to be like you.
I have such a desire to have even half as strong of a faith as you did.
One that is constant in the midst of despair, one that rejoices in strife, one that sees a situation with no hope and yet brings the hope.

I want you to know that even though I ask the "why" question a hundred times in my head on an average day, I also know that while I'm in this world there will most likely never be a "because".
And I've come to terms with that for the most part.

And with the fact that we live in a broken world full of sin and evil.
That things happen according to the greatest plan that we do not, can not, could not, understand.

I've begun to realize the fact that you are one piece of the puzzle and I am another and if we ever get to see the finished masterpiece it will not be on this earth.

And that is it.
It is accepting that this is not the end.
It is accepting the fact that cancer does not win.
It is accepting that evil does not get the victory.

It is accepting that because of Jesus, death here on Earth is not the end all be all.

"O death, where is your victory?
 O death, where is your sting?
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
1 Corinthians 15:55-57

It is accepting that because Jesus died and rose again three days later, that there is life beyond death.

"Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself, that where I am you may be also."
John 14:1-3

It is realizing that because He died for your sins, and for mine, that everything is changed. That we will be together again one day.

"And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
Revelation 21:3-4

That yes there is sadness, but is temporary, it is not forever.

It is seeing hope that is magnified.
Realizing that the joy is greater than the sorrow.

I grieve because of what I am missing out on, but mom, I rejoice because of what you are taking place in.

So, here I am at year number nine of losing you, of missing you, of wishing you were here.
And mama?

I hope that you are dancing with joy at the feet of the Savior, at this very moment.

I hope that you are singing praises to the King of Kings.
I hope that you are rejoicing in the goodness of the truth.

I want you to know that I'm down here doing the same thing. I just think yours is probably a little cooler.
I'll shed a few tears this week. I do every year.
But I'll be smiling too.
I like to think you're pretty proud of us, Austin and I. Dad too. He might not have ever mastered braiding my hair, but he did a pretty wonderful job of raising us, if I say so myself.

And I know that one day we'll be together again. You'll answer my questions, and we'll talk about all things I wish you were here for, and we'll sit in the Light and praise the Savior together.
We'll laugh and smile and just sit together again.

Until then, I'll be here.
Writing blog posts. Doing my thing. Shining the light, just as you did, so so beautifully.
Rejoicing in the hope that we have through Jesus.
Praise be to God. It is well with my soul.

Love you mama.
Today and always.

Sincerely,
Alana