Mom,

I’ve missed saying that word. I’ve missed it since that one day, the single worst day of my life: the day that I lost you. It took time for me to understand that you weren’t coming home. When people told me stories about Heaven and that that’s where you had gone, I began to wonder why I couldn’t go there, too.

When I finally learned the reality of my loss, I stood in room filled with black trying to understand why the world was doing this to me. Girls aren’t supposed to grow up without their moms. I wanted you to wake me up for school and be the one to add the milk to my cereal. Dad did his best, but you’re the only one who knew exactly how I liked it. I wanted to hear your voice telling me goodnight and tucking me in. I had to encounter so many milestones without you, and I still have more to go.

My first school dance, I knew you would’ve taken twice as many pictures as the other parents, and developed them the next day. And when I had my first date I wondered if you would’ve helped me find something to wear and whether or not you would’ve liked the boy. I wish you could have helped me through my awkward years; not having you made them so much harder. Every time I met someone new, I had to wonder when to tell them about you because there’s never really a good time to tell them my mom’s dead. When I went to prom, graduated high school, and went off to college, everyone of my friends had two parents to experience it with, and I knew I was missing part of that.

I can’t imagine not having you there for my wedding day; I know you would’ve told me I was the prettiest bride. I’m going to have to face every Christmas and every birthday without you. No matter what I asked Santa for or how many candles were on my cake, my wish was and is to have you back–and I knew it could never be granted. I wondered, at first, what our family could be without you as a part of it. I wondered mostly about what our lives would be like if you were still with us. I wondered if I would turn into the daughter that would make you proud.

You were taken from me and I can’t understand why, but I know you didn’t want to go. I know you probably wondered what would happen to us with you gone, too. Would we be OK? But there are a few things that I think you should know:

I want you to know that Dad has done a great job.

He figured out how to brush my hair, and he even tried learning to braid it. He made it through my awkward stages of puberty, and he still takes care of his not-so-little girl. He is the best man I’ll ever know, and I know you could say the same.

I want you to know that the only reason I am the person I am today is because of you.

I like to think that I’m doing pretty well, and I take pride when people tell me that I remind them of you.

I want you to know that I miss you every day and take you with me.

Although a lot of time has passed, you aren’t forgotten. I think about you often, and not always with a heavy heart.

I want you to know that I will never forget you.

I was so young when you were taken from me; there is still so much I wish I knew about you. But as for the things I do remember, I promise that there’s no way I’ll ever forget.

I want you to know that I’ll do my best to make you proud.

Every day I try to make everyone proud, but most of all, I want to make you proud. I know you’re up there, watching over me every day.

I want you to know that I’ll never forget your hugs and kisses -- but I wish I had one more.

I replay those last moments with you more than I’d like to admit. I’m thankful for that hug and that kiss, but if I knew they would be the last ones, I would’ve held on a little tighter and kissed you a little longer.

I want you to know how thankful I am to call myself your daughter.

Of my many accomplishments, one of my favorites is simply being your daughter.

I want you to know how much I really do love you.

I love you, forever.