A Mother's Letter
Dear Alana,
My sweet girl. I started writing another blog to put out for the one-year mark of losing you. (I hate the word anniversary. Anniversary is a word that sounds like something you should be celebrating). This blog was a letter to Sarah from a year ago. Warning myself of all the things to come. I got part way through it and realized that it just felt wrong. What I truly wanted to do was to write to you. I know that I write a letter to you every night, but I wanted to share one that the world could see.
This Thursday marks one year without you. Though, to me it feels like that mark lands on Wednesday because we lost you on a Wednesday. Every single Wednesday this year I have counted down the weeks since that fateful day. I still can’t fathom months. A year (or the years to come) seem incomprehensible. This year seemed to drag on for me. One long miserable step after another away from the last time we talked. From our last hug. The last laugh. And your last smile. Your dad, sister and I have watched the holidays pass, birthdays, births, other people passing, the end of the school year and the start of another. We watched dance team and band camps proceed without you. We’ve watched “your boys” all turn 16. Some of them are even driving now. (Oh, how you would laugh and tease them about how scary it is that they are on the road now). We’ve watched other friends graduate, start college, or get jobs. All of this we’ve witnessed while trying to carry you with us.
What I what you to know my Alana B(aby) is that you would be so insanely proud of your friends. Losing you was a crushing weight to them. Each and every one of them have called you their best friend. They have spoken about how you changed their lives. Some even saying you were their first true friend. Despite the pain of losing you, they have all decided to honor you. Some of them have stepped up as older siblings to Allison. They have been her saving grace. I think they know you would want her watched over. They have drawn inspiration from you. Either in the projects they have taken on, or the way they chose to live their lives. They still look for your guidance in signs. Taking a flickering light, the flight of an owl, or a dream to mean that you are still there telling them what they should do. They still talk to you. Some out loud, others in letters and some call or text your phone. And they love you more than I think you ever realized. Their longing for you is deep and wide, but they still carry on in the most considerate, caring, and graceful way that they can. You really truly would be so proud of them. I can say with full confidence you found yourself the most amazing friend group anyone could ask for.
As for your sister … I know you are smiling down on her. She matured so much in this last year, realizing all the things you did for her and our family. She’s heard the stories of your kindness, compassion and willingness to include others. I think it has inspired her to be more like that … more like you. While she’s had some of the attributes before your passing, I think she is more conscious of her choices. She’s stepped up to be a friend to your friends, to help more around the house, and offering her special “Allison’s positive energy” hugs. And much like you, she is quick to give my own advice back to me on my tough days. As hard as 6th grade was for her, she managed to perform in her first play, sing at choir concerts (even without you on stage near her), and stay on honor roll. Her determination to make the most of 7th grade mirrors your determination to live life to its fullest. There are moments when I see you shining through in her. And whenever it’s pointed out to her, she does an “Alana eye roll” and says, “Well, I am her sister.”
I think it is important for you to know that you truly had an influence, rather you realized it or not. Right after we lost you so many people left messages about your kindness, laughter, willingness to help, honesty, and how you could brighten a room. I know you didn’t feel that while you were here, but people that your father and I didn’t even know spoke about your kindness and how amazing you were. People in the community that you interacted with on some level reached out offering condolences. I know you struggled with being bullied often second guessing yourself. I know at times your anxiety would overwhelm you; along with the challenges with your PCOS. I know at times you felt like people didn’t see you. But they did, baby. Just like I told you in middle school you shine way to bright for people to not notice you. The whole school district grieved for you. Your cute little bus duty kids missed you. Middle school teachers cried. And the high school was rocked by your loss.
During the first week of school this year, I visited the high school. There are still pictures of you posted around the school. Memorial ribbons in offices. People still smile when they talk about you. Projects are underway to remember you in all the various schools within the district. The middle school planted a tree in your honor. A purple magnolia. Your picture still hangs in the 7th grade hallway of you in your leading role. Allison is keeping an eye on your tree and says good morning you every morning as she passes your picture. And being the “annoying little sister” that she can be, she even sticks her tongue out at you sometimes.
I have often wondered over this last year if your soul knew this moment was coming. All the various conversations you had with people. All the stories that came to light after you were gone. The one that so many people have come to know is that one you and I had about what I would do if something were to happen to you suddenly. I told you I would start a scholarship fund in your honor. Well, baby girl, your dad and I did it. We spent a big part of this last year building a nonprofit in your memory. Alana’s Wings of Hope. We have been able to honor that promise. In May the first scholarship went out, helping another student take that step to make their dream into reality. We were able to honor an 8th grader that stood out for their kindness. That isn’t the only things we were able to do though. We ordered and presented brand new GK color guard flags to the school. You would’ve loved them. We got a special flag for you that will fly at every home game through your senior year. The color guard program is growing in the ways you wished so badly it would. While you may not be here to have that be your high school legacy like you wanted, I can’t help but to wonder if it’s growing because of the spark that you lit for it to be a truly amazing program within the school. In addition to the flags, we helped the marching band on their way to Hawaii for the Pearl Harbor remembrance ceremony, that I know you would’ve loved to attend. And tonight (right before I started to draft this), we confirmed our donation to the dance team. We have been able to support four other families that lost someone suddenly. We held two fundraisers, one of them being a 5k to honor your 16th birthday. 125 people came out to honor you either by walking or running it. There were a couple of babies in strollers and even a couple of dogs. I know the babies and dogs would’ve made you smile. Every single day dad and I work to keep your memory alive. We were featured on the news and did three radio interviews. All of them sharing your story. We often cry afterwards, but we are determined that your name lives on. That you will not be forgotten. And when your father and I can no longer manage the nonprofit, your sister and your friends plan to be the ones that take it over. You would find it so amusing, but your friends want to be involved in the nonprofit to the point that we have started a “junior board”. Already they are presenting ideas on ways to raise money, support others and make sure your name is still out there.
But if I’m completely honest, I would give every single one of these up to have another moment with you. There aren’t words for how much you are missed. For the huge gapping hole that was created in so many lives when you took that last breath. What only the people closest to me know (which I guess I’m about to share with the world) is that I have cried just about every single day since I lost you. I regularly look at your pictures, watch videos of you, and listen to the last voicemail you left for me. Your friends are amazing by sending me whatever pictures or videos they have of you so I can see more of you. On the truly rough days, I will pull out an item of your clothing to wear just so I can feel close to you.
In the house is an old China cabinet that your dad and I bought. In it sits your urn surrounded by pictures of you. It was so empty and baren when we first set it up. Now it is overflowing. Friends and family members have contributed pieces to it to honor and remember you. Some are old movie or concert tickets, guitar pics, our family’s DND characters, and some of your artwork. Other stuff are things people have bought. A purple gemstone, DND dice, bookmarks, necklaces, bracelets, dried flowers, keychains. Some of your friends created art projects with you mind and they now fill the cabinet. Your dance bow and color guard headband are in there too. More gifts and memorial objects litter your bed. A marching band shirt signed by everyone in the band, books bought with you in mind, some of your favorite candy, shirts you would’ve like, keepsakes from concerts, your dance uniform, and dad and I got your patches on your letterman jacket. Every Wednesday I go to Starbucks and buy your favorite drink and treat. Dad brings home things from the various trade shows he attends. I share all of this for one reason and one reason alone: baby you are still so very loved. For so many people to continuously think of you and bring things for your room or cabinet is truly mind blowing. For your bed to be covered in things to honor and remember you … it shows how important you are to people. Even the friends that find it too hard to be at the house without you here, they still call your phone or send you text messages.
I know you didn’t think you were special. I know that you often thought people didn’t see or care about you. I know there were times when you didn’t really feel loved or accepted. But my beautiful girl, all of that is wrong. You are special. People do see and care about you. And you made such a huge difference, even if you never saw it.
I won’t lie, Alana, I don’t know how I even made it through this year. I have no clue. I can’t fathom making it through another year without you, but just like I survived this year I’m guessing I will survive next year. I wish more than anything, I could’ve found a way to prevent the blood clot from forming or found some magical way to have saved you. Allison and I are plotting to kidnap the first time machine to go back and see you (maybe even save you … damn the butterfly effect … lol). I keep telling myself that every day isn’t a step away from you, but instead a step towards you. I will see you again someday. And on that day, I’m going to tackle you and hold you as long as I possibly can. When I finally release you, I want to hear everything you have been doing on the other side. Until that moment comes, realize this … I love you more than words could ever express. Every day I miss you horribly. And I will never stop wishing you were still here with us.
I love you to Jupiter and back
Mom
XOXOX
PS. I know you would want to know this. Dipper is being well cared for. He went from being the most teased animal in the house to being the most beloved. Allison has adopted him for you. When the days and moments get tough our family and your friends cuddle Dipper. I don’t think a cat has ever been as spoiled as he is. So, know that your baby is being well cared for. I love you my beautiful girl.
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