Hey there,

It’s been almost two years since you died and I think about you almost every day. For years you served as a second mom to me. You gave me rides to practice and drove me, your son (my "brother") and our friends to the mall countless times. Your door was always open to my conversation and whether you realized it or not, your couch was often my sanctuary on the days when I needed to escape. And while I’ve spent the last two years reminiscing about all of the beautiful memories we shared, I can’t help but think of the things that you’ve missed out on and the things you’ll miss in the future. But if I know one thing, it’s that I wouldn’t be the person I am today without you.

One of my favorite memories we have together is from a few years before you got sick. I needed somebody to listen to me rant and I headed to your house to talk to your son. When I barged through the front door without knocking, you were sitting on the couch as if you were waiting for me to come over. The look on my face after you told me that my “brother” wasn’t home must have said that I needed somebody because when I turned around to walk out the door, you said it was okay to wait with you until he got home. During the hours that we waited for him to get home, you listened to me. I cried, and you told me it was okay. You talked to me as if I were your own daughter; you always did. You always told me I was the daughter that you never had, the best sister you could’ve chosen for your sons, but it wasn’t until that day that I realized how much you really loved me. And I loved you the same in return.

After that day I felt like a part of your family. I knew that I could rely on you to be there for me when I needed you and I’m confident that you felt the same about me. We laughed, we cried, we argued, but we were always honest with one another. You told me when that boy wasn’t right for me or when I was being overdramatic. You told me that you couldn’t wait to see the woman I’d become. It breaks my heart that you are not here to watch it happen.

You died a little more than a month before my freshman year of college. That first season of volleyball, I wrote your name on the tongue of my shoes. You always supported my dreams and you had always tried to make it to my games before you passed, so I wanted to make sure you were at each one that season. You also missed your second son’s high school graduation. I let one tear fall at that ceremony before I stopped myself; you would have been a blubbering mess and I would’ve made fun of you, so I couldn’t let it happen to me. As I continue to think of all the events you’ll miss, in your sons’ lives as well as in my own, I can’t help but know that you would be proud of where we are today.

There are things that you’re going to miss, like weddings and children. And even though I’m not quite sure what happens after this life ends, I hope that you’ve been by our sides and will remain there through it all. I miss you and I love you.

- Your “Daughter”