Lost Love Letters Page 6
This is not what you wanted. And as much as I selfishly wanted you to live. I knew that you did not want to live like this. Jeremy came back and regretfully signed the paperwork. He went to be with his family as his heart broke.
And for once, I was not in the waiting room. I stood next to your side across from my mother and sister and I held your hand as the breathing machine was removed. You took several labored breaths, and we told you it was okay. You seemed to calm and a smile graced your lips. Then you passed from this earth.
At the age of 47, you were gone and I was glad that I was able to be with you. That you were not alone.
My heart ached so badly, I cried for a month. I had been blessed, and had never lost anyone close before. Jeremy, took it the worst. To this day he still blames himself. Maybe this letter will help him understand. It was not his choice, but your own.
And I know that you are not truly gone. I know that you visit from time to time. I have seen you in my dreams and while I was awake.
So I do what we all must do, I go on. But I try to spend more time doing what I enjoy and less time worrying.
Life is just too short.
With Love Always,
Lynn
Lynn Hubbard
Lynn Hubbard is a historical romance author. Her titles include: Run into the Wind, Chase the Moon, Return to Love, Desperado, War of Hearts and several others.
Find Lynn online at lynnhubbard.com
Lisa Vandiver
Dear Mom,
I am writing this letter to you because I want you to know I love you very much. I appreciate everything you have done for me since birth. I am sorry if I have hurt, disappointed, or created difficult situations for you. It has never been my intention to cause you any pain or sorrow. I am thankful that through the rough patches, you never quit on me. You have always been there for me in the good and bad times, have been my rock, my greatest comfort in times of sorrow, and my best cheerleader, even when I did not exactly deserve one.
You have not had an easy life, raising six kids without a man to help you, but you did it successfully. I do not remember a time when I went hungry, thirsty, unsheltered, or unclothed. Somehow, you managed to provide for our family, and keep your sanity intact through it all.
I have watched you muster up courage and be tough as nails when you needed to be and gentle as a lamb when necessary. You truly are my hero and I hope that one day I can be the kind of mother and friend to my own daughter that you have been to me.
All three of your sons are respected family men and your daughters are nurturing, caring mothers to their own children. I would say that is a strong testament to how well you parented us.
I have watched you throughout the years as you have lovingly treated people with sincere care and worth, always compassionate, and always thinking of others before yourself. The world would be a much better place if everyone loved one another as unselfishly as you have loved others. You are a special woman and a wonderful, loving human.
You raised me in church, taught me to love Jesus, books, others, and myself. You taught me how to be a productive, strong woman. The person I am today is because of your love, countless prayers, and your faith in God.
You were always there each day when I got off the school bus; I could always count on you being there. I could count on so many things from you, such as a bountiful breakfast every morning and a delicious dinner every evening. Somehow, though we lived on a meager budget, every Christmas and birthday was always special and I looked forward to each one because you made the holidays special. I do not think I ever realized just how much you sacrificed for your kids, and more personally, for me, specifically while I attended college. Thank you for those sacrifices. You may not have felt appreciated back then, but I want you to know that you are appreciated now!
I can still recall the memory of our first chat about death when a young child from our church passed. You helped me to see that death was just another extension of life. Though it was a sad time, you comforted me by reminding me that as we mourn for little Carmen, we could keep her with us in our hearts and minds.
We have enjoyed some wonderful times through our lives together as mother and daughter. I am thankful I have had the pleasure in this life to be your daughter and to have the joy of having you in my life. The memories are priceless, forever locked inside my heart to call upon when you are not near.
I laugh aloud when I think of some of the things you did for your kids. How many mothers would put on roller skates, skate down a wooden hallway floor to make sure their child had a good time? (I am sorry you broke your bone in the process.) You Played kickball, softball, and even tag with us. The fondest memories are of you stuffing yourself with watermelon on a hot summer day, taking walks around the 'circle' just to get us out of the house, and singing Amazing Grace and other spiritual songs. I have always loved the sound of your voice, be it in speech or song. It has been a source of comfort to me. Many of my childhood friends enjoyed coming to our home because you were kind, young at heart, and playful.
I recall our trip to the Smokey Mountains. How fun it was to see the sights with you and Bonnie! Though we were on a budget, we still had a grand time together taking hikes, riding horse trails, and exploring nature. I recall the bikers we met on the trip, and how kind they were. The pictures I have from the trip bring a smile to my face each time I look at them. What a laugh we all had over the 'afternoon trip' Bonnie and I took as you rested in the motel room. Oh, boy what a trip that was!
Thank you for all the trips you have taken with me. I think we have been all over the Southern part of the United States at least once! Ha!
I recall the countless nights that you spent time with me at the dinner table, playing board games with me. Oh, what good times they were! I can still hear our laughter, see our smiles, and feel the joy in my heart as I revisit those precious moments.
Lastly, I am so appreciative to God that he has allowed you to be a part of my daughter's life. Keira loves you very much and I see a lot of you in her. To watch you hold, rock, sing to, and play with my daughter is a blessing beyond compare, and I thank God for those sweet moments.
When this life is over for me, I will be celebrating a new life in heaven with everyone I have loved and held dear on this earth, with you right by my side-as you have always been. Thank you!
With Sincere Love, Lisa
Lisa Vandiver
I've written short stories and poems my entire life, but have attempted to write professionally since 2005. I have written three books thus far, but am constantly working on new stories each day. I also pen out free stories on my Imagination Alley blog and conduct interviews and write short stories at my second blog, Lisa's Place. I am constantly changing, growing, and learning as I continue down this path. I've recently completed my first screenplay, which is now in the editing stages. I have always been a dreamer and will continue to strive for my dreams and reach for the stars. I hope you'll take this adventure with me as I pen out my stories, you find them entertaining, and you'll fall in love with the characters as I have with each story I've written in novels, screenplays, or on my blogs. I enjoy hearing from readers so feel free to drop me a line or visit me at my blogs or find me at facebook, twitter, or google+. Thanks!
Find Lisa online at Amazon
Cheryl Shireman
To My Beloved Children,
(Rocky, Lee Anne, and Scarlett)
I’m a Baby Boomer. All three of you know that. But let me explain a bit more about what that means. It means that I remember bell-bottoms, Happy Days, and having only three channels on the television. I know, you cannot imagine such a thing. Three channels! I played Donny Osmond albums on a record player (yes, record player). My parents watched Gunsmoke, and on Sunday nights we all watched The Wonderful World of Disney in the living room on the only television we owned. Imagine that! One television and it was black and white! I was shocked when I finally saw Bonanza in color. I remember the first time I heard about r
emote controls for televisions. The whole idea seemed ridiculous. With three channels, really, how often would a remote be needed? I remember the Watergate hearings playing on the television when I came home from school. Watergate. Yes, I know, you have probably heard of it, but don’t really know (or care) about what happened oh so long ago.
I also remember watching feminists (does anyone use that word anymore?) burn their bras and march for equal rights. I grew up believing that a woman deserves equal pay for equal work and that a woman is not defined by the man she marries or by the children she gives birth to. In fact, women of my generation were told that both men and children were optional. We didn’t have to be a mother or wife. The idea seemed revolutionary at the time. It still does. Women were mad as hell and they weren’t taking it anymore. We called it Women’s Liberation, and though it was never said, it was certainly implied (and believed in most circles) that a woman who did not work was a bit inferior to a career woman. That was when such women were called housewives and not “stay at home” moms. Women were divided into two groups – those who worked and those who didn’t. Back then, no one thought that staying home and taking care of a family and home was real work. The women of my generation wanted more, demanded more, and believed we were entitled to just that – more. We sometimes looked at our own mothers, most of whom did not have real jobs, as women who simply did not understand that there was more to life than being a mother. If truth be told, we thought they were a bit simple-minded and we secretly vowed to do more with our lives.
And yet...as this Baby Boomer looks at her life, I realize nothing I have ever done, or will ever do, is as important as being a mother to you. Not career, volunteer work, graduate school, or any creative pursuit. Nothing else even comes close. Period.
To say that you have filled my life with love and joy is an understatement. You expanded my heart in ways I could never have imagined. For the first time in my life, I not only understood, but received unconditional love - from you. As adults, you are three people that I know I can always count on. You will always be there for me. Just as I will always be there for you. Can I say the same about a career? That “goal” that once seemed so important. Honestly - no, not really. Careers come and go. Great accomplishments lessen with time. But a child’s love? It never lessens.
There used to be a tv show called Fantasy Island. It was way before your time. People visited the island and lived out their fantasies – no matter how wild (okay, not that wild – this was primetime family tv in the seventies). Not too long ago, I was talking to someone about that old tv series and we asked each other – What would your fantasy be? Mine was easy. I knew in an instant.
If I could have a Fantasy Island day, I would relive one day with you. Rocky, you would be 10, which would make Lee Anne and Scarlett 4 and 2. We would spend the day doing whatever you wanted. Going to the park, going to the movies, playing games, baking cookies, or just sitting on the floor playing with Legos and Barbies. I wouldn’t miss a moment. I would hug you a lot. And kiss the tops of your heads. And take tons of pictures. I wouldn’t cook. I wouldn’t clean. And I wouldn’t worry about my career.
I would watch you, Rocky, as you show your younger sisters how to do things, like you always did in your older brother sort of way. And I’d spend hours building a Lego castle with you. I wouldn’t even complain when, later that afternoon, you would tear apart all of our work to build something else. That always drove me crazy. I didn’t realize, then, that it was the act of building that you enjoyed, not the final result. I wish I would have spent more time building with you.
On that fantasy day, I would watch my two-year-old Scarlett follow her older four-year-old sister around the room, shadowing Lee Anne’s every move. I would watch Lee Anne taking care of Scarlett, as if she were her baby. Which is what Lee Anne called Scarlett when she was born – my baby. I wish you could remember that, Lee Anne. I would tell you, “No. Scarlett is our baby. We have to share her.” Unconvinced, you used to shake your head and reply, “No. She’s my baby.” It doesn’t surprise me that when you went to Indiana University, Scarlett followed you there two years later.
We would have whatever all you wanted for dinner - whether it was pizza or ice cream and cake. And if you did want cake, we’d have candles too. Just like it was your birthday. You could all take turns blowing out the candles.
Bedtime would be later than usual on that fantasy night, because I would be reluctant for our day to end. I would tuck you into your beds, fresh from baths and smelling of shampoo. You girls smelling like baby lotion. I’d hug Rocky goodnight and you would hug me with your long skinny arms and tell me you love me. And I would feel the truth in that. Then, down the hall, I would tuck you girls in and tell you it is time to go to sleep - knowing that you will talk for at least half an hour after I leave the room. I would take extra care in covering Lee Anne’s feet, because you always kicked your blankets off during the night. I would kiss Scarlett and hold her a little longer, because I would know that, one day she will move to Denmark, and then New York City, which makes visiting tough.
As I walk back down the hall and turn out the lights for the night, I would call out to all of you, as I always did... “Goodnight. Love you. Sweet dreams. See you in the morning.” And all of you would respond with the same words - to me and to each other.
That would be my fantasy day. A day with you when you were little. Oddly enough, it never crossed my mind to think of a fantasy involving my career as a writer. No fantasy of being number one on the New York Times Bestsellers list. No fantasy of being interviewed by Oprah. Despite growing up as a “liberated woman” in the Baby Boomer era, when it comes to achievement, the three of you are always first on my list.
Would my current life be as fulfilling if I had not pursued a career and graduate school and developed the skills I am using now? Probably not. I managed to combine work and school and motherhood. If I had not pursued my own dreams, my nest would have been even emptier once you left. Like most women of my generation, I believed I could have it all, and do it all, but to be honest – you always came first. Everything else was just fluff. Being a mother is the strongest and best part of my identity. It is the thing I am most proud of. My greatest achievement. And, once in a while, I miss those days when toys where scattered across the floor, the washer was always running, and we bought eight gallons of milk a week.
Now, in addition to you, I have two granddaughters (so far!) to love. And you know how I love those girls. How obsessed I am with them, how I hang on their every word, their every move. Just remember, my babies, I once was obsessed with you and hung on your every word, your every move. And, if you promise not to tell anyone, I will share a confession. I still feel exactly the same. I’m still obsessed with you. I still hang on your every move, your every word. But, as you became adults I had to learn to back off of that a bit. Believe me, it wasn’t easy. Because even though you are all adults now, every time I see you I want to throw open my arms and have you run into them - just as you did so long ago.
But, now, I resist that urge and contain it to my grandchildren - your children. And the best part of hugging those grandbabies is that when I hug them, I also hug a piece of you.
Reader - if you have children at home, cherish those simple every-day moments with them. They really will be gone in the blink of an eye – sooner than you can possibly imagine. Put this book down. Now. Go sit on the floor and play a game. Pop some popcorn, put on one of their favorite movies, and cuddle up on the couch. Live that “fantasy” right now. You will never be able to recapture these moments again. Enjoy them now. There is no greater gift than the love of your children. Spend the rest of your day letting it pour over you. And pour your love right back over them.
Cheryl Shireman
Cheryl Shireman lives in the Midwest on a beautiful lake with her husband, Bruce. She has three children and one adorable granddaughter who calls Cheryl “Bomb Bomb.” Cheryl’s first novel is the bestselling Life Is But a Drea
m: On the Lake. Subsequent novels include Broken Resolutions and Life Is But a Dream: In the Mountains. Cheryl also authored the beloved, bestselling non-fiction book You Don’t Need a Prince: A Message to My Daughter. She writes full-time and right now is at work on her four-book Cooper Moon fiction series (probably in her pajamas and staring out the window at the lake).
Find Cheryl online at cherylshireman.com
Christy Hayes
Dear Peggy B.,
Whenever I think of you, my face does this funny pouting thing and then I smile. I pout because you are no longer here with us and I know our lives would have been so much different if you hadn’t left us so soon. I smile when I think of you because it is impossible to remember you and not smile.
To me, you died the day you had heart surgery and suffered a massive stroke. The you that I loved has been gone so much longer than your physical body. I’m glad you were around physically to see your grandchildren born and to know their names, but you didn’t know them and they certainly didn’t know you. Not the real you.
You’re still here, Peggy, because your fire and passion lives in your son, grandson, and granddaughter. They have so much of your confidence and strength. If your heart hadn’t failed, if you hadn’t elected to have surgery, you would have been at our house daily to see your grandchildren and to shower them with your unending well of love. It’s hard to say that they miss something they never experienced, but I think deep down they know something’s not as it should have been.
You were a constant source of emotion to me. I loved all the sass in that little firecracker body of yours. You were a force to be reckoned with and a mother-in-law worthy of respect and fear. You had your son wrapped around your little finger. He adored you and I know he misses you more than words could ever express. Your husband is a mess without you, even after all these years. There are so many times I wish you could scream down from heaven, “Oh, get over it, Ed,” especially when I’m trying to talk him into getting a dog. He needs some unconditional love and something to need him.