I haven’t written in awhile. I’ve thought about it here and there, but that’s about all. I haven’t wanted to write even though I could feel the need closing in on me. I know I should’ve written something, anything, weeks ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It made more sense to resist. Nothing I could think of saying seemed adequate anyway. Even now, I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m just trying to let some of this out because I’ve been holding it since your mother began her transition, and now that she…See, I don’t want to write it down right now. I know not writing it doesn’t change anything, but it doesn’t matter. Your loss is my loss, and I’m just not ready to face this, not yet.
She said she didn’t want us to cry, and we did our best to do as she wished. I still can’t believe she’s not down the street, just minutes away. We can’t pick up the phone and tell on each other anymore. I can still see that look she would give me whenever you would make up stories or just flat out lie about some odd thing from your past. She was always amused by your stories…I can only let myself remember a little. I don’t want to go too far, not yet.
You know you did the right thing moving her here, right? There’s no question about it. She needed you.
You did your best for her. I saw it everyday–no exaggeration. You were right there for her. You consistently demonstrated your love for your mother through every twist, turn, and bump in the road from the moment she arrived last December. You didn’t even know you were in the valley with her, but you were. I saw it. I know. She knew, too.
You are a courageous person. You learned that from her.