It has been fourteen years since I lost you, Mom.

Fourteen years since I have heard your voice, seen you smile, or told you I love you.

There are some days I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember what music you listened to, your morning routine, or your touch. It would be so easy to remember if I could press rewind and replay those one more time.

I was eleven years old when you were taken from me, yet it doesn’t seem like I was that young. Sometimes I get so angry for not remembering the small things. I will never know what your biggest dreams were growing up, how you became so passionate about art, or what your favorite song was. I will always wonder what your favorite childhood memory was, what you loved to cook, or what your biggest adventure was.

It has always been the little things I want back.

I don't remember every detail about you, but I am blessed to say I remember enough.

Because what I do remember, is vivid enough.

While I complained and whined about going to swim practice, you still managed to attend all my practices and meets in pain, barely able to walk.

While you and dad broke the news to me, you fought back your tears.

And while I was in denial and ignored the pain, you conquered it full on.

I keep these memories close in my heart. These might not be the best moments, but they are some of the most powerful memories on replay.

Sometimes I feel guilty, Mom. I should have been more loving. I should have done more for you. I should have appreciated more. I was just a careless little girl. I'm so sorry.

The night before you past, Dad told me your time was coming soon. We weren't very strong, Mom. It was the first time I saw Dad cry.

He told me to say goodbye, but I didn't want to. I tried my best to get out of it. I told him it wouldn't happen.

Not today, not tomorrow, and not in three years.

That night I told you I loved you, you told me you loved me back.

I heard many voices the next morning. Grandma referred to you in past tense as "the youngest one." Right then and there, I knew my goodbye was real. I hid under my covers Mom, hiding as best as I could. I did everything to avoid walking through my closed bedroom door. I will never forger the reality that hit me when Dad walked through that door.

That night was the last night we spoke Mom, the last time I saw you alive.

While there is so much I wish I could remember, I will never regret nor forget the time I said I love you one last time.

I will never rewind and say this was something I should have done.

I hope one day we will meet again, Mom.

Until then, I carry you with me; I carry you in my heart.