Letter to Mom, Easter 2010

I didn’t get to spend Easter with my mom this year, or Mother’s Day.

At the end of the week, I’m taking off on a birthday extravaganza. I will end up at my mom’s house by the end of it and we will celebrate Easter, Mother’s Day and my birthday all-in-one. I always thought it was suiting, having a birthday so close to Mother’s Day, after all, I couldn’t have one without the other.

I am finding myself severely homesick for my mom, which happens from time to time and can only be cured by a healthy dose of quality time (which, I hate to say it, will make both of us crazy and then it will be good and right to depart from one another again, and then we miss each other again, and the cycle will continue).

I’m sharing a letter I never sent to my mom and I don’t think I ever will. I wrote it last Easter. I believe she knows how I feel about her though. I tell her every day.

Dear Mom,

You’re just like me, only 34 years into the future.

You told me by the side of the bed that life goes by so fast. I stare at you too and giggle to hide the sadness. You giggle too.

Dear Mom,

Thanks for walking with me through the forest, even thought I know you wanted to go to church instead. Trees tall and towering, we cited poetry.

You crawled down the steep parts, both of us did. Got dirt on our hands and legs, and watched the spring flowers bloom right in front of our eyes.

We saw a curly tailed duck and listened to the fish and the water, found our way back into the valley again.

The frogs sang from every direction in the wetland. You said they weren’t really frogs, but that someone had installed speakers to make us think we were listening to frogs. I asked you,” How could that be?” but couldn’t prove you wrong. There was not a frog to be seen even though the sound was so clear, so near and so loud.

You said you were glad I took you. I taught you how to take pictures on your cell phone. You won’t remember how, but you remember that you saw the same leaf on another plant 50 yards behind us. That’s o.k. I’m like that too.

I love you Mom,

Anna

Do you write letters that don’t need to be sent? At least we save on postage.

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About clutterheart

You don't know me, but you will.
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