One of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life so far is stand next to your hospital bed.

You looked at me, and I looked at you. You couldn't speak, and I had no idea what to say.

It’s been almost exactly six months, and I know now exactly what I should have told you.

Thank you.

Thank you for all the spaghetti-os.

Thank you for all the toys at Christmases.

Thank you for coming to all of my orchestra concerts.

Thank you for teaching me some pretty awesome stuff like how to fish, and ski, and how to be a good person. I was the oldest and you taught me that I had to be the one to set a good example for the younger kids. You taught me what it meant to be responsible and gave me the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them.

Thank you for all of the trips to Indiana Beach to play Skeeball.

Thank you for helping me buy my first car.

Thank you for loving me even though mom was young when she had me. Now that I am as old as she was when she had me, I understand why everyone was so worried. I know I’m definitely not ready to have a baby, but I wish that when I am ready, you could be there.

And most importantly, thank you for showing me that love doesn’t always have to be shown with hugs and kisses, but by doing things together. It isn't the hugs or the kisses that I remember when I think of you, but the boat rides, the basketball games, and the endless other fun things you took my sister and me to do.

I miss you.

Summer, this year, wasn't the same without you. A piece of all of us was missing on the Fourth of July. Twenty-four years ago, you started an incredible tradition and it won't be the same without you.

Probably the weirdest thing, though, was not getting a happy birthday call from you bright and early. I’ll never forget how each year, without fail, you would call and sing happy birthday.

This holiday season won’t be the same without you. Thanksgiving two years ago was the happiest I had seen you in years. In fact, I think that's the last time I remember seeing you really good and really happy.

We’ll miss you this year. So much.

I love you.

There isn't much to this one.

I love you, and I don't feel like I said that enough growing up.

I love you.

There is one more thing though.

I decided about a year ago to name my daughter Celia after your mother.

Out of everything, I regret not telling you that the most.

All my love,

Chelsea