There is no Time like the Present

Dear Mom,

When I think of what I haven’t shared with you, I don’t know if I could pick just one thing. Knowing that I can no longer share things with you kills me inside. Since your passing, I have grown so much. I know you’d be very proud of the man that I’ve become. I spent my teenage and adolescent years all but ignoring you, and the distance from you moving from New York to Massachusetts, made it so that I stopped seeing you. You spent the first 10 years of my life trying to turn me against my father, and I carried that resentment with me when I moved in with him, which made me want to distance myself from you. Growing up, I also felt like I had to distance myself from you emotionally and physically because of your battle with multiple sclerosis. It was anything but a normal childhood. I know you tried your best, and we were both selfish at times, but I never loved you any less because of our circumstances.

I don’t know if I ever told you that I was almost a father. My ex had gotten pregnant and lost the child a few weeks in. I had told Grandma, but not anyone else. Not my father either. That happened in 2017, three years before your passing. I know how happy you would’ve been to see me become a father, and if my wife and I do end up having children. I’ll be sure to tell them all about you; how much you loved me and cared for me before MS overtook you, how hard you had to fight to try and live as normally as you could, how you managed to get your bachelor’s online and become a paralegal, even though it was unlikely that you’d be able to work. You fought harder than anyone else I know. I see your strength within my wife, someone who doesn’t let obstacles get in the way of living, and I know that my kids will have that part of you within them too.

You knew I was a musician, but you never really got to see me play. The only time I sang for you was when you were in the hospital, just days before you passed. I couldn’t tell if you heard me. I’d like to believe that you subconsciously knew I was there. I wish I could have more time with you. I have to live the rest of my life feeling like I didn’t let you know how much I love you. I can’t take back all the years of silence and resentment and I so wish that I could change things, just so that you could know that you were greatly loved and appreciated. Maybe you knew that anyway, but you still should have heard it more.

It would have been your 44th birthday this year on May 4th. You must have been in so much pain to have left us so early. I wish I could have been more understanding. I’m so happy that you were able to meet my wife Stephanie before you went. I hope you know that she loves me so very much and she takes good care of me.

Losing someone that you love offers the lesson of value: knowing how meaningful things really are. It’s so easy to get lost or caught up in other things, but since losing you, I have really started to appreciate the time that I have here. I cherish every moment that I get to spend with my wife and every moment that I get to see Grandma and Great Gram (who turned 95 this year). I know too that I will have very little time left with Great Gram, and I want her to know how much she means to me before she goes too. I am so grateful for the love in my life and so grateful to you for passing down this light that I have. Let it shine bright like a beacon of Hope. I love you Mom, and I miss you very much.

With all my heart,

Kristopher Michael