Dear Amanda, Love Mom

A year ago, approaching the anniversary of my Mom's passing, I found myself struggling with a recurring dream. In the dream, Mom would lovingly snuggle my brother and me on the couch and say “OK, here’s everything you need to know about life without me…” And then the dream would end and I’d wake up in a jolt. I was upset and desperate for answers... there was so much left unknown. The brief period between my mom's diagnosis and her passing meant we never broached the topic of her potential death, and I was so unsure of what she might have said to me, if she had known.

The dream persisted for weeks, even months, prompting me to bring it up in counselling. When my counsellor asked what I believed my mom would say to me in that moment (at this point, it was around 1 year after her passing), I found myself at a loss for words. However, later that week, I fixed myself a bubble bath, grabbed a pen and paper, and I started writing. I embraced all of what I knew about my mom and what she’s said to me over the years, and I wrote myself a letter. This is what it said:

Dear Amanda,

I’m so proud of you. I know that my death is the most challenging thing you’ve ever been through in your 30 years, but you are okay. You’re not just surviving, you're thriving. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but you are.

I told you so, Amanda. You are strong, and “we’ll get through this too.” We always have, and always will. I know you think I need to be there to guide you and I’m so sorry that I’m not, but you have everything you need to be able to live a beautiful, independent life. You are smart and can do anything you put your mind to, you are beautiful inside and out, and everyone who knows you loves you.

I’m so sorry I missed your 30th birthday. I know you really missed me on that day, and I missed you too. Sometimes I still can’t believe I missed it. I’m so happy you have Jeff in your life, and I’m glad he threw you a surprise party, even though you don’t really like surprises and didn’t really feel like celebrating. 30 is a big deal, and you deserve to be celebrated!

I’m so proud of you guys for still going to the houseboat. I know how hard it was in the summer without me. I know everywhere you looked, you saw me. I know you felt like everything was wrong without me there, but you did it. Being at the houseboat is being with family, and you guys can lean on each other.

I’m so glad you and Jenn are leaning on each other to get through these hard times. You know how much being close to your brother and sister-in-law means to me. I’ve always wanted this for you guys.

I know I mentioned that you should speak to someone professional… and I’m so happy you did. It is so hard to ask for help, but you were able to recognize what you needed, and I know it's helping you. Keep going for as long as you need to. I know it’ll be expensive, but it’s worth it. You need to take care of your heart and your mind.

I know that you’ll always miss me, and that’s OK. But keep smiling, Amanda. You have a beautiful smile and a beautiful life, and I will always be cheering you on, from wherever I am.

I love you, more, Amanda, and I’m so proud of you. 

Mom ❤️

Reflecting on this, I now realize that even with more time between Mom's diagnosis and death, we might not have had a conversation like the one in my dream, nor would I have likely received a letter like the one I wrote for myself. Nevertheless, my bond with my mom was amazing and my understanding of her runs deep... I know what my mom would say to me, and that is truly beautiful. 

As an aside, I am immensely grateful to my counsellor for suggesting this exercise. While it was challenging - written through heavy tears - it marked one of the most profound and healing moments in my grief journey to date.