Dear Mother,

I chose a picture taken of you and Dad in 1956 standing by a Christmas tree for my “December” frame at the office. In the picture, Dad is planting a great big smooch on your cheek, and your brilliant smile reminds me of everything I want to remember about you. Don’t worry, I haven’t stopped being your daughter these past 21 years. If cancer hadn’t stopped you, you’d be 95 now, and you could see for yourself how much like you I am. Yes, I still wear Dad’s stubborn streak, and I’m not extraverted, not even close to his never-met-a-stranger ways. Like you, I’m content with a small collection of friends and prefer staying home. You continue to influence my choices—and I haven’t forgotten who I am.

Get ready for a big surprise. I married Mauri Macy! I have the letter you wrote to Aunt Helen and Uncle Arthur back in the ’60s that explains why I decided to marry Paul Carlson rather than Mauri. You said it was because I had seen marriages of musicians fail and I didn’t want that to happen to me. When you died I was still married to Paul. He lived another five years, and not long after he died I married Mauri and moved to Oregon. Since Paul suggested it, I didn’t feel the need to wait around.

I have to admit there are times I’m glad you’re not around to see how things are going here. We’re at war again, and several years ago al-Qaeda terrorists hijacked four commercial passenger jets. The hijackers intentionally crashed two of the planes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, killing everyone on board and many others working in the buildings. Both buildings collapsed within two hours. Another plane crashed into the Pentagon in Washington, DC, and the fourth into a field in Pennsylvania, having been thwarted from its target by some brave passengers, the leader a graduate of Wheaton Academy. Nearly 3,000 people died as a result of these attacks.

I never wish I could go back in time, but I sure enjoy looking at pictures from the past. I’ve spent some time organizing into notebooks all the memorabilia I’ve collected from your estate. I learn a lot about who you were when I look through them, which gives me insight into who I am. Imagine how much fun it is reading the love letters you and Dad exchanged while he was in Dayton and you were in nurses training. Are you blushing? Yes, I even followed along while you planned your wedding!

It’s time for bed, so I’ll close this letter. This has felt like old times when I would write you long typewritten letters. I still miss you, but always in a good way, remembering how much you loved me and prayed for me. Maybe you still do! I’ll hold that thought until I see you again over there where you are. Meanwhile, I’ll gaze at your radiant smile in this picture and remember how blessed I was, how blessed I am, to have you for my mother.

Love,
Sherry, age 64