Dear Mom,

I was looking at your picture today and I felt an overwhelming urge to talk to you. I love that picture of you and Alex at Sue's beach house. Anyway. I just have a lot of questions. I wish I could talk to you. I want to hear your voice again. I want that secure feeling of having a mom.

Do you remember when I was living in Santa Barbara and you used to write me letters? I wish I would have kept them. I want to go back and read them.

I feel so lost sometimes. Did you feel that way when you were my age? Did you feel depressed? Like life was passing you by? Did you feel impotent, like nothing mattered? Or that you couldn't find the motivation to do anything? Did you feel like you had no path to follow? That you were wandering aimlessly while others were flourishing? Did you feel like you missed your calling? Or never had a calling in the first place?

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what I'm good at. I don't know how to find the joy that I once had. Did I ever have it? I don't know how to get myself up and motivated to take on the day.

I find myself hiding. I see warning signs but choose to ignore them. I'm drinking a lot and I'm eating a lot. I'm uncomfortable with myself all the time. I don't like who I am. I don't like that I sit around and do nothing. I don't like that that I do nothing to change.

I know even if you were here you couldn't help me with this. I would never have asked you any of these questions. I was to intent on proving to myself that I was different than you. Now I am starting to realize maybe my demons are your demons.

Ugh. It is all so frustrating. Bottom line, I wish you were still here. I wish there were more vacations with the boys going down to the lake and going on your boat. I never did get up on skis. I wish you could come and see Alex play soccer or see Jacob play hockey. I wish you could be at their graduations and enjoy your role as being the proud grandma.

I started watching American Idol. I remember you used to watch it and was always disinterested in your excitement. I really see the fun in it now. I bet it would be something we could have talked about.

The service for grandpa was very nice. He would have been proud and honored at the military funeral. You should have been there. It wasn't right that you weren't. We placed his ashes next to grandma. We went out on the town and drank mai tais. We ate, we talked story and we played liverpool. You should have been with us.

You probably know that Aunt Bonnie died yesterday morning. She probably let you know somehow. Have you seen Grandpa? Grandma? Gayle?

I really wish I could call you. I really wish I could here your voice. One more time.

Love,
Susan