Letter to the Absence I grew up with

Dear Mom,

It was my birthday today. I had a beautiful day, people who love me wished me, I got gifts, I laughed, I felt held. But when the world finally went quiet, I felt you missing again, in that same deep place as all the last 13 years. You were with me for 12, I've now missed you for 13.

I don't feel lonely in my life. I'm surrounded by love. But nothing replaces the space you left in me when I was twelve. I wish you could see me now, the woman I've become, the strength I didn't know I had, the life I'm slowly building. I wish you were here to say you're proud of me, to hug me the way only a mother can.

Some days I handle it. Some days the pain softens. And some nights, like tonight, it comes back sharp. It reminds me that grief doesn't disappear, it grows with you, changes shape, waits quietly until a moment like this. The whole world feels like it is crumbling when I start missing you.

I miss you. I miss the version of life where you got to stay. But I carry you with me, even now, even at 4 a.m. on a birthday you weren't here for. I wish I didn't make that phone call that night. If I knew I would lose you forever, I wouldn't have.

This was by far the best birthday I've had, but I still wish you were here.

Love, Your daughter.