To the mom who lost her son last year, I want you to know that I remember. As I was walking my daughters to school last Wednesday morning in the crisp air, I remembered. Maybe this year he would have had the same teacher as my daughter. There is a skeleton in the corner of the classroom that scares her. This year they have 15 spelling words each week instead of 10.
To the mom who lost her son just days before Christmas, I want you to know that I cried when I read his obituary. I didn’t know it was you. We had spoken on the phone and exchanged emails just a few short weeks before you lost your son. I was the mom who wanted to help with the holiday pageant costumes. I was frustrated with the teacher who had waited until the last possible minute to ask for help, you were only the messenger. I am so sorry that I was harsh with you on the phone.
To the mom who still has to get through his first birthday in heaven and the anniversary of his death, I want you to know that I will do my best to honor you both. A few weeks ago I grumbled at the receipt before crumpling it up and tossing it into the bottom of my purse; $49 for pencils, notebooks and tissue boxes for two kids. But then I remembered. You would have willingly paid 1,000 times that amount if it meant you could have him back, if you could have bought school supplies for two kids instead of one.
To the mom who can no longer hug her baby boy, I want you to know that I won’t forget. Many times over the past year I have wished that I could stop by your home and bring you a cup of coffee even though we have never met. I would offer you my ear and a shoulder to lean on, because everyone deserves a friend like that. I would listen to your stories of him. I would reminisce with you and remind you that although you won’t forget, your grief will indeed soften over time. And when you reach a day in the near future when you feel as if you just can’t hold it together and you just want to forget it ever happened, please know that I will always remember.