It’s that time of year again, the time you loved so much.
And as every year passes by, I become a little bit stronger, a little bit wiser.
But I still miss you. The feeling is not every day, I must admit. Yet, when it comes, it comes differently everytime.
One day, it comes like a wave and I simply just miss you so much that I cry, and cry, and cry, and just cry.
Three months later, it comes quietly, while listening to music, while just thinking about you, and the tears fall, quietly.
Sometimes I miss you while I am on my period, you know, when the emotions are high. Then I become a little moody for nothing and my brain somehow takes it back to you.
I know that you can’t even read this, but it makes me feel better to know that I wrote you a letter, and perhaps God would read it and supernaturally convey the message to you.
I know it probably doesn’t work that way, but I guess it is worth a shot.
And nights like tonight where I simply cannot sleep because my thoughts of you exceed my tiredness, I need to get it out the way I know best.
It is not enough to just think and cry about you, I need to write.
Writing calms my mind, even more than music. Writing makes me feel the way I felt when I used to lay next to you on your bed after a bad day.
I miss how you just knew something wasn’t right without me even saying a word. Cause often I did not want to say a word, I just wanted to lay there in your presence.
Don’t get me wrong, I preach healing because I am healed. So I know that missing you will be forever, until I die.
And that’s okay, because I like missing you. Sometimes I just wish that I could miss you and then go to you, or phone you.
But I know I can’t, and that is also okay.
I know that I will be okay.
I know that these days just come and go, and tomorrow I will feel better.
And then this Christmas season will pass and all will be well. Until Easter, and the pickled fish will bring back those memories of the one bowl of pickled hake, one bowl of pickled snoek and sometimes one bowl of pickled angelfish.
Then that will pass and it will be okay… until Mother’s Day…
And so the cycle continues… but every year gets better.
And that is the healing that I preach… that it gets better if you allow it to.
And before my letter ends, in the silence, in the dark, my tears fall again, quietly, crawling down the sides of my eyes and into my ears.
For you mama, will always be missed.
And I don’t even know how to end this letter, because ending it feels so wrong.
So here, I am ending it now… only cause I must.