I still feel your hand in mine, guiding me through the moments we dreamed of.” – Unknown

Dear Mom,

As I sit here cleaning your tombstone, I brush over the date: Feb. 9, 2016. Time is strange. Although it’s been 10 years — a whole decade — since you passed, it still seems like yesterday I was in the hospital saying goodbye.

So many people told me it gets better with time, but the only thing that gets better is learning how to cope with the grief. The pain that was once unbearable isn’t anymore. A big part of that is thanks to therapy, but I would be lying if I said I don’t miss you and wonder what life would be like if you were still here.

But it has changed. Now I’m able to talk about you without it hurting. When I see girls with their moms, I don’t instantly wish it were me. Instead, I’m happy to see girls not taking for granted the time they have with their moms.

I used to feel guilty for not appreciating all that you did for me, but now I live my life by the lessons you taught me. I didn’t realize it when I was younger, but you were preparing me to be an independent woman. And it worked.

I struggled the first couple of years, and when I thought I had worked through my grief, Tío Junior and Abuelo passed away. Their deaths — especially Tío’s — opened wounds I thought had healed.

But once I moved to Tyler, that’s when I really started my healing journey and my news career. Making the decision to move away was the hardest, but also the best one I could have made for myself at the time.

Ironically, while there, I saw many red cardinals. I’ve never seen so many in my life. Later, after I moved, I found out the county I lived in was Smith County — your maiden name. Some would say too many coincidences, but I would say I have an angel looking out for me.

You always told me to stay true to myself and not let others change me. In Tyler, I was reminded of this lesson. In my heart, I knew I was meant to be a reporter, and I took a leap of faith to become one, which led me to a new city.

There’s something about living near the water, because Corpus Christi was where I needed to go next. Here, I continued to heal, but it’s different. I feel like I’m stepping into a new chapter where I’m becoming the person I’m meant to be, and that’s thanks to the friends I met there. I think you would like my newsy friends from everywhere.

I’m sitting in exactly the same place I was five years ago, but I’m not the same person. It was 2021, right after the world shut down. I was unhappy and very lost, wondering if I would ever be happy again. But I told you I would keep my promise, and I think that’s what kept me going.

I didn’t give up on my dream of being a reporter because you never did. And I’m glad I didn’t.

Ten years is a long time, and my heart starts hurting knowing you’ve been gone for so long — and that this is just the beginning until I see you again … a very, very long time from now.

But I wonder if, 10 years from now in 2036, I’ll be returning by myself.

A lot can happen, and I smile knowing you know what’s in store for me in the coming years, just like you knew what would happen these past 10 years.

 

Miss and love you always,
Lidia