to my mommy
8:44 p.m.

Mom,

I miss you, so so much. I'm so sorry you had to suffer as much as you did. I keep thinking about times before you were sick, when everything was normal. And then I keep thinking about seeing you lying in bed, dying, your breathing so labored and raspy. I think about dad waking me up to tell me you'd gone, and being relieved. Hearing it like it was him telling me he bought bread, or that there was a message for me on the answering machine. I remember walking into your room, and seeing you lying there, K and CA there with you. You looked asleep, but you were so cold, and so stiff. Your hands couldn't be held because your joints wouldn't bend. When I hugged you it didn't bring any relief, and happiness, because you weren't soft and warm, and you didn't smell like makeup and hairspray and cigarettes. I kept expecting you to blink your eyes, or move your fingers, expected to see the little movements that let people know you're alive. I stroked your face and kissed your forehead, and told you I love you. I wrapped my arms around you and sobbed that I still need you. Oh, Mommy, I miss you so much. There's so much you won't see and I have no way of knowing if you really are there, if you really are an angel always watching over me like you'd promised you would be. I wish I could know if you're still there. It just breaks my heart to think that someone so wonderful, so full, so loving, could just stop being. That all that could be left of my darling mother is a body being tested on and cut open by medical students.

Mommy, I still need you. I'm only sixteen, and I still need you. I can never love anyone the way I love you.

I'm weeping as I write this and Mom, just know that I miss you so much. And that I hope you really can watch over me.

Your Loving Daughter,

Emily

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