Dear Mami,

Mom, Mami, Mommy, Ma… so many ways to address the woman who birthed me and they all sound foreign.  I guess after 33 years of just seeing her in my head or referring to her as simply my mom, it makes sense that I would be lost as to what to call her.  The last time I saw or interacted with my mom, I was 10 years old.  While more than 3 decades have passed, part of me still feels like that 10 year old.  I’ve decided to address her as Mami and keep calling her that until it becomes “normal.”  

Dear Mami,

May has always been a month where you have been at the center of my mind.  Not only is Mother’s Day in May but your birthday also falls in May, around the Same time.  A month and a half ago, we found out that your life also ended in May, adding another day of significance during this month.  

33 years ago today, you were violently snatched from this world.  Taken from your kids, who so desperately loved you and needed you.  First we were removed from your care in March and then you were removed from our life permanently, 2 months later.  I will be honest that I am still a little numb from the news.  Heartbroken because I will never get to see you or talk to you in person.  I am sad that because back then we didn’t have a video camera, I will never hear your voice.  I am even sadder that I don’t recall your voice.  The only sound I remember clearly is your whistle.  I can’t imitate it but i can hear it clearly in my head.   The whistle that meant Mami is home.  So much joy to have you home.  You were the center of our life and having you around meant the world. 

As much as I wish I would have known what happened to you sooner, I am glad that I didn’t know of your death 33 years ago.  Living with Grandma was not a picnic and only the hope of you rescuing me kept me going.  I am devastated that the hope has been extinguished but I am far more prepared to deal with it as an adult than as a 10 year old kid.  Back then, it would have negatively impacted me and I honestly don’t know if I would be here today.  How do you keep going when all hope is gone? Maybe your spirit kept me from knowing to protect me.  Maybe you have been guiding me all along. 

I am sorry that I ever thought or assumed you would abandon us.  I never doubted that you loved us.  That’s why I was so incredulous that you would just disappear.  How could you not come back?  Knowing how horrible living with her was, how could you leave us there?  But looking back, I realize it was easier to get mad than to honestly consider that maybe you couldn’t come back.  Someone had made sure of that. 

As I sit here today, on the 33rd anniversary of your death but the 1st one since we found out, I am filled with sadness, longing, anger and so many other emotions.  But most importantly, I am filled with love for you.  I hope you realize what an impression you left on your youngest child.  Your fierce love and light have not been forgotten.  Even in the midst of the angriest I’ve ever been, my love for you far outweighed any negative feeling.  I remember you and your energy.    I find myself thinking back on the good memories.  Bringing up some story or advice you gave.  It’s comforting to to think of the good times and remember the smile that we all inherited from you.    

While you have never been forgotten, you were kept in the dark.  The thought of you was filled with pain and hope.  Maybe we would see you again.  Now that we know  what happened, the pain is still there but the hope is gone.  The hope may have been extinguished but you were also set free.  You were given your name.  We can talk about you and remember you and honor you.  All of these years since I last saw you in that hallway, I was measuring time until I saw you again.  I always envisioned a reunion where I would fill you in on all of the milestones you missed.  Now, I often talk to you in my head.  I haven’t started reminiscing yet but I will get there.  You will never be kept away like a little secret again.  I love you ❤️ ❤️.

Love,

Millie