Today I want to say that I’m thinking of you. It’s been four years now since you died, and actually, I think of you every day. Every day that I look at my daughter who carries your name. Every day when I consider myself as a mother, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend.
I miss you. I miss the years of shared experience. I miss sharing our futures, particularly our parenting experiences. I wish that you were here to meet my two youngest children, who only know you from pictures.
Your kids are doing great. They are fantastic children – you’d set up good foundations, and your husband is doing a fantastic job of raising them. He’s a lovely bloke, and obviously the rest of the family chips in regularly. Your daughter is so much like you in looks that it’s almost painful at times, though I don’t remember you being quite as sporty at this age 😉 And don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s exposed to slightly unsuitable literature at the right point.
The little rose that David and Sally sent me when you died is thriving. It’s planted right outside the door so I see it every time I come home, and I’m looking forward to it flowering again. It helps me remember you with a smile, although I still find I shed the odd tear. Like right now, as I’m writing this. That would probably exasperate you, but I don’t know. There were so many things that I never found out about you, and now I never will.
But somehow, being able to think of the longest day as your day seems fitting. The best and brightest day of the year. Just for you.
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