Dear Mama

Dear Mama,

It's been a while since I talked to you. You have visited me lately, in my dreams. Maybe because I have forgotten to say hello to you and Papa in my prayers. Sorry about that.

So how are you and Papa? I am sure you are both happy that you are together now. As for me, well, I have not been doing you proud lately, I guess. I am crisis, as usual. (I have been since Papa went, then you.) I am gliding through it quite well, though. If this happened two decades ago, I would probably have gone looney tunes. I made tough decisions lately, and I felt really terrible about them for a while. I have done my part for the longest time, I told myself, to console myself. So one day I woke up and decided to rid myself of the disappointment, the sadness and the guilt. A close friend of mine aptly told me to 'float', meantime. She meant a lot more than that, she knows everything there is to know about me. So I am 'floating', 'riding the tide', 'keeping myself together'. I have been quite successful for a month now, and each day, I am more collected, more comfortable with the decisions I made. I stopped punishing myself. 

Your visit in my dreams were pleasant, the first, we were buying shoes: those flat OurTribe leather sandals you taught me to wear, in one of the shopping sprees we used to do way back. In the second dream, Papa was with you. We were travelling together on a vacation, looking for a place to stay. The other parts of the dream are now a haze. If I consulted a dream interpretation 'lifestyle page' on facebook, it would probably say that you are getting me ready to join you in the other life; shoes to walk with, and a search for a destination. That's scary, and feeds paranoia, so I am deflecting by writing this to you.

We were not in speaking terms when you left. I remember at the ER where you breathed last, I touched your feet and said 'sorry, Mama'. Then left to see to your arrangements. Echoes of Papa's voice flooded my brain, him telling us during the times I would answer you back (which is seldom) when you start with your 'sermons': 'Right or wrong, you have no right to do that to your mother.', he would always say. The first night you left this world, I remember having a vivid dream of you knocking by my window, trying to wake me up, and you told me you love me. I woke up tears falling down my cheeks, remorseful that I did not try to make amends with you while you were still alive, but grateful that you forgave me, even if it was just in my dreams. 

Now that I am also a Mama, those Papa's words, I recall each time I have issues with my kids. It is a gift, really, that they are good people, my kids. I realize I have not been the mother they deserve, but they are the only 'truths' there are in my life. But there are times they can no longer 'take' who I am, it shows. I would be hurt, even with the acknowledgement that I did bad. I would still be hurt. I can imagine the pain I caused you, then. I am fortunate, I realize that now. They are forgiving, my two kids. Aidan, my son, would profusely apologize for each time he feels that he hurt me. I wish you were here to meet him. You would have liked him. And Ana, she is so headstrong with her heart in the right place. You met her when she was a little girl and I regret that you did not see her grow up to be the woman that she is now. You would have been proud. 

I write you this  because for the first time after you passed, I truly miss you. I need you to tell Papa for me, that I am sorry I have not become the daughter she raised to be great. I need both of you to understand the decisions I have made, no matter how selfish. And I need to let you both know that I am who I am because of what you taught me, but I am who I have become because me. You blessed me with the clouds, but I made my rain. You blessed me with the sun hovering above, but I made my own rainbows. You blessed me with your love, but I made my life.

I will tread my life, with the thought that you both are looking over my shoulder. I am absolutely sure, you will show me where I should and should not go. 

With love,

Christianne