Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Life after death

When you reach your fifties, life changes.

Your parents start to die.

Your friends start to die.

If you are really unfortunate, your kids might as well.

I lost my mom several years ago. I have sent this letter numerous times to friends whose parents are in their last weeks of life.

I hope this letter helps you. If not today, at sometime.

May 17, 2009


I am flying to Dallas tonight. Going to spend some time at our house there. Some of the best will be at night, looking up at the stars talking to my Mom. I do that a lot.

It was about 10 years ago that we learned that she had cancer. Her’s was a slow mover, but it eventually got her. She went to a better place on December 30, 2002.

She was my muse, my mentor. I miss her everyday. But I talk to her everyday, and I believe she hears me and talks back to me in unusual and clear ways.

Looking back, I just wish I had spent more time with her. Learning more about her life. Learning more about our family’s history, because she was the family historian. Learning more of her special recipes.

I know where you are. It is hard to comprehend. It is unfathomable to think s/he won’t be here.

So my encouragement to you is to spend as much time with him as possible. Let him know how much he is loved. And let him be your dad as long as he can. And get him to talk about everything. His life. His dreams. His unspoken secrets. How you can best honor him with your life.

As physically sick as Mom was, her mind was 100% until the end. One of my favorite memories comes from her last week in the hospital. My sister and my Aunt Pat were with her and they helped Mom to the restroom. Wearing that hospital gown, it came untied in the back and she was flapping in the breeze. My sister frantically tried to cover her back up. My Mom said, “Honey, don’t worry. That’s why they call it I See You.”

Treasure the life that is left. The best may be yet to come.

And know that if it comes soon, or if a miracle gives him years more, it will eventually come. And when it does, he will still be here for you. You just have to look up at the stars and have a conversation. It’s better than cellular.

Our thoughts are with you.


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