Dear Momma,

Dear Momma,

Hey mom. I don’t really know where to start or what to say.

Eric was actually the one who suggested I write to you. He showed up at my apartment, all huffing, and puffing. You know how he is.

He said, “Mae, something needs to change.”

But when I asked him what he thought I should do, he sighed, “I don’t know. Write her a letter.”

I’m not gonna lie, I laughed. What do you say to someone you haven’t talked to in…

How long has it been? Five years?

There’s a lot to catch up on, I suppose.

I ended up going to that art school I told you about. Now, I’m working at this little theater doing stage design, and you were right I don’t have good health insurance. You were also right about that guy I was seeing in high school. He ended up being a total tool.

I’m not with anyone now. I haven’t had much luck in that department.

Eric just had his second baby a few months back. His oldest is nearly three now. I don’t get to see them very often.

We don’t really do holidays anymore. Dad sold y’all’s house and moved into this tiny condo, and Eric always goes to his in-laws. It just hasn’t been the same since you left. We tried to do Christmas that first year, but it didn’t go well. I ended up getting really drunk, and we… Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all that.

I miss you. Even after all this time, I still find myself wanting to ask you something or just call and chat. You know, I’ve tried to recreate your pear cobbler a million times, and it’s never right. I asked dad about it once, and he just shrugged.

I wish you would have written the recipe down.

Actually, I wish you wouldn’t have left so you could make it for all of us at Easter like you always did.

Why did you… Why did you just give up? I don’t understand. They said there was a chance. They said if you did the treatment, you could have gotten better. I don't care if it was just a one percent chance, you should have fought for us.

You always told us when you were in remission that if you ever had a recurrence you wouldn’t do chemo again. We didn’t believe you. We didn’t believe it would ever happen again, much less come back so aggressively. But you beat it once. You could have beat it again.

I’ve never understood. I was a senior in high school. Eric just got engaged. We needed you. Dad needed you.

For so long, I was so angry. I felt like you were being selfish. But then I remembered what chemo did to you the first time. I remember how painful it was when your hair fell out, and the days you couldn’t eat because your mouth was full of sores. I remember you vomiting so much you would nearly faint.

They said this time would have been worse. They said the treatment would have been so powerful that you would have had to stay in the hospital.

Looking back, I don’t blame you for not wanting to. You chose to live your last three months with your family. You got to see the first show I ever designed by myself. You got to be there when Eric proposed. None of that would have happened if you would have been hospitalized.

I’m sorry, momma. I’m sorry I was so angry. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve visited you.

I’m gonna be better. I’m gonna get sober, and I’m gonna learn how to make your cobbler. Easter is coming up. Maybe I can get everyone together, and we can all come to see you. We’ll have a picnic or something.

I love you.

Mae

I folded up the tear-stained letter and tucked it between the grass and the petite headstone.

The memory of my mother’s funeral played in my head. She always told us that she wanted to be a pear tree, so we mixed her ashes with potting soil and planted a sapling. I sobbed as we patted the earth flat around the base of the slender trunk. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way the dirt felt under my fingernails.

Branches filled the air above my head. I looked up at the tiny flowers that had just begun pushing through their buds. Tears stung my cheeks.

“You look beautiful, momma.” My voice quivered.

I sat in her shade and watched bees dance from branch to branch for a long time. The occasional white petal fluttered to the ground like a snowflake. Without thinking, I began to pluck the weeds from around the granite marker as I talked aloud. The sun filtered through clusters of vibrant green leaves until the afternoon bled into the evening.

“I gotta go, mom. I’ll come back next weekend with dad. He needs to see you.”

Before I turned to leave, I ran my fingers over a section of bark. A warm breeze wrapped around me as if it were a hug goodbye.

I smiled, “I love you too.”