mom – Tamara Letter

Seven Years

May 4, 2024May 4, 2024 Tamara

My mom died seven years ago today.

I woke up this morning thinking of her, a bit nostalgic as I later picked out my clothes to wear to breakfast. When I saw my black, long-sleeved CNU shirt hanging in my closet, I was catapulted to May 4, 2017, sitting beside my mom, holding her hand as she took her last breath.

Even though it’s been seven years, the shirt remains in my closet, a visual reminder of that last day. I remember every detail like it was yesterday, from me racing to the hospital in my glasses, ripped jeans, and flip flops to the rainstorm that poured from the sky right after she passed. I remember the impromptu family reunion we enjoyed that morning, with my mom cracking jokes and telling stories, as chipper as a girl in her youth. I remember when she closed her eyes for the last time with her husband, Bob, on one side of her bed and me on the other.

Death is hard.

But death is also beautiful as I captured in my reflections one month after her passing. It’s something very raw and intimate to share the transition from this life to the next. The bar is raised when you share that moment with your mother.

I was curious on how my mom would show up for me today. She did not disappoint! Below are my #HiMom moments from morning to night.

Breakfast Surprise

Every Saturday morning, we have breakfast with Rich’s dad, whom we affectionately call Grandpa Letter. Shortly after being seated at Marty’s, a local restaurant in our town, I was shocked to see one of my sweet, college sorority sisters, Sutessa, walk through the door with her husband. Such joy!

Sutessa doesn’t live in Mechanicsville, so I never see her around town. In fact, the last time we were together was when she invited me as a guest speaker to her local book club to talk about A Passion for Kindness, which they all had read. It was wonderful to reconnect with her, even if only for a few moments. As we hugged and took a selfie, I whispered to her that she was a Godwink from above to give me a hug from my mom. She was in the right place, at the right time, without even realizing it.

(As a sidebar, Sutessa was one of my close friends when my mom attempted suicide. She and I often carpooled to and from college, sharing the 4 hour drive together to stay awake on the long drive. We’ve had lots of sweet memories through the years including both having redhead boys!)

#HiMom Heart

I knew I would see a heart today, but I didn’t expect it to be a pothole in my neighborhood! Imagine my surprise as I made the realization while trying to swerve out of the way. I literally laughed out loud! Then I turned around, got out of my car, and took a picture with a pothole. (Better a pothole than a pothead, right mom? Haha)

Hugs and Kisses

One of my elementary school friends operates her own small business creating customized gifts. I had placed an order with her earlier in the week, then saw my order was ready to be picked up today. Not only was the bag in my favorite color (turquoise), but she wrote a personalized note with an XO on the outside of the bag. Hugs and kisses from my mom! How awesome is that? Then, when I opened the package, I discovered that she blessed me with kindness with a few extra gifts to give away at no cost. Kindness always makes a hard day easier!

Thank you, Holly, for reminding me that I’m loved!

Starbucks Seven

My mom loved to drink coffee. I decided to visit Starbucks, leaving $7 with a note to be discovered by a stranger to buy them a cup of coffee. Imagine my surprise when I went to the counter and saw a KIND bar right under two types of gift cards – one that said “One Amazing Mama” (spelled the exact same way I used to spell/call my mom growing up) and the other saying “Best Teacher Ever” (I’m an educator.) Could that Godwink BE any more obvious? Another smile and laugh for me.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Yesterday my son moved out of college, ending his sophomore year. He’s only home for one day before he leaves again, this time for a week-long trip to Florida with one of his college groups. I bought two little bags of chocolate chip cookies to sneak into his bag as a surprise for the road trip. My change was $7.05. Seven dollars. Seven years. I’m counting it as as another wink from my mom.

Turkey Dinner

Weeks ago, Grandpa Letter was so excited to find frozen turkeys on a deep discount at Publix. He invited us over for dinner tonight, not even realizing the meaning of today’s date for me. As my little family gathered at his home, enjoying what truly was an elaborate Thanksgiving dinner in May, I was reminded of the last Thanksgiving meal I enjoyed with my mom, the first we had shared in several decades. I don’t recall taking any pictures from that day, a practice that has drastically changed since my mom has left this world. Now I take pictures of EVERYTHING. I am constantly living in the moment while also preserving the moment for years to come. I made sure to take lots of pictures tonight, too.

Celebrate everything, especially on May 4!

When tomorrow arrives and the date shifts to May 5, it will be a new day with new memories to make. Even though I miss my mom with each passing year, I am grateful to continue on in her absence, now the matriarch of my own family tree.

kindness, mom

Lobster Roll Memories

April 27, 2023April 27, 2023 Tamara

Life is short.

Get the lobster roll.

Next week will be six years since my mom passed away. She was a born-and-bred Bostonian who loved lobster rolls almost as much as her beloved Red Sox team.

The day before she died, I bought her a lobster roll (a bit tough to find in Central Virginia!) which was the last food she ate by mouth. It was such a poignant moment that I wrote about it that night, not realizing she would pass away the next evening.

Yesterday I saw a Facebook post that Saltys Lobster & Co. was coming to town and would have lobster rolls available from a food truck by the Libbie Mill library from 5-7 PM. The timing was just too perfect to miss. The line was long, but good things come to those who wait.

Six years.

My goodness.

So much has happened since then, but it still feels like the blink of an eye.

I’m reminded again how important it is for us to embrace life in the moment. Find your joy and share it! You never know when a moment will become a memory, captured only with a photograph or words put to paper.

Many thanks to Saltys Lobster & Co. for the walk down memory lane and one wicked awesome lobster roll.

This one’s for you, mom!

mom, reflection

Four Years

May 4, 2021May 4, 2021 Tamara

My goodness.

Today I awoke thinking of the extreme range of emotions on this day four years ago:

Panic. Heartbreak. Surprise.

Celebration. Jubilation. Wistfulness.

Sadness. Sorrow. Gratitude.

How can so many emotions fill the space of an ordinary day that remains frozen in the cracks and crevices of my mind? A day that ended up being anything but ordinary?

Four years.

I think about all the things you’ve missed:

Graduation. Performances. Sports Events.

Birthdays. Holidays. Vacations.

Book signings. Award Ceremonies. Keynote presentations.

I feel you lingering in my soul in the most unexpected moments, when a sight of a heart in the world around me shows you’re only a heartbeat away.

This morning I wished for a sign.

From you.

Today.

And without fail, you showed me that I’m never alone.

See, even in those quiet moments, when I’m sitting alone on my front porch, wrapped in my favorite navy sweater watching storm clouds fill the sky, you know the exact moment I will look towards the sky.

My goodness.

Thank you for being my mom.

Thank you for giving me life.

Thank you for showing your heart today.

family, mom, reflection

This Moment

September 3, 2019December 30, 2020 Tamara

It happens in the blink of an eye.

You enter this world, so small and pure and whole, this moment so encapsulating that we can’t even fathom a day when you will be old enough to leave our wings of security.

And yet… you do.

You learn. You grow. You discover right ways and wrong ways and somehow make sense of it all as you reach milestones around every bend.

Despite our best intentions to slow down time, today arrives and we are not ready. We frantically make sure you have everything you need, while worrying about those things we cannot control. We question our decisions, ponder our purpose, and mourn the loss of time that passed too quickly.

You, however, are ready to soar.

In this moment, our separation reminds us that each day is a gift and if we can just make it through to the end, we will once again see your smile shining back on us.

You were made to achieve great things.

You were made to create an everlasting impact on the world around you.

You were made for this moment.

And in this moment, we stand to the side and watch as you lead the way.

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family, mom, reflection

Two Years

May 4, 2019June 11, 2019 Tamara

Two years.

Each day this week I have glanced at the calendar, the bright days of April quickly transforming into May. I didn’t want to turn the page to a new month; I wanted to freeze April for just a little bit longer, just as I had two years ago.

Just a little more time.

Just a few more days.

Just a few moments more.

What I have learned in two years is that even when we don’t turn the calendar page, even when we pray our hardest for more, more, more, we are unable to stop the progression of time.

Time continues on without our permission. Time turns daylight into night and the low tide of the morning will always rise by afternoon.

We are not in control of all things.

Today it has been two years. I can hear the faint echo of your laughter in my dreams, and I wake with the knowledge that you are still with me, witnessing all the things that the past two years have brought into my world.

You were in my heart as I struggled to fulfill the promise I made to you on the last day you were on this earth.

You whispered encouragement to my mind when I was too scared to submit a book pitch to my favorite publisher, the crushing weight of fear and failure immobilizing my courage.

You nudged me on the inside as I pushed through the fear and submitted my proposal and you were right there in spirit to celebrate when I signed that final line of the book contract.

You reminded me of my worth, my purpose, my passion again and again and again.

You smiled sunbeams from above when I submitted my first draft.

You created an avalanche of accolades when my first book was shared with the world.

You sent signs and Godwinks all around, reminding me that though you are gone, you are always here.

And today, two years later, you are reminding me that it’s OK to laugh through the tears; it’s OK to find joy in the journey.

It was through your dying that I truly learned how to live.

Today I am thankful for so many things. For my faraway friends who send surprises my way, not even knowing that their timing is perfect. For family members who treat me to breakfast (and later dessert!) and others who sent messages of love and thoughtfulness.

I am thankful for the small ways I see your love shining through and those little reminders that there is always joy to be found, no matter the date on the calendar.

After all, each day we’re a little closer to dying, so why not stop and enjoy the moments while we can?

Surprise gifts from Karen Caswell who lives in Australia.

Another surprise gift from Kim Gretes, a childhood friend – a handpainted frame in celebration of my first book.

As I attended my niece’s dance recital today, I saw a duet performed by two graduating seniors and the lyrics of the song grabbed my heart as I thought about my mom and the journey we shared. I was so touched by the words, I immediately downloaded the song from iTunes and copied the lyrics below.

Two years after your passing, the words still ring true to my heart.

"Time Of Our Lives" 
Written by Timothy Myers and Tyrone Wells
Performed by Tyrone Wells

This is where the chapter ends
A new one now begins
Time has come for letting go
The hardest part is when you know
All of these years - When we were here
Are ending, but I'll always remember

We have had the time of our lives
Now the page is turned
The stories we will write
We have had the time of our lives
And I will not forget
The faces left behind
It's hard to walk away
From the best of days
But if it has to end
I'm glad you have been my friend
In the time of our lives

Where the water meets the land
There is shifting in the sand
Like the tide that ebbs and flows
Memories will come and go
All of these years
When we were here
Are ending
But I'll always remember

We have had the time of our lives
Now the page is turned
The stories we will write
We have had the time of our lives
And I will not forget
The faces left behind
It's hard to walk away
From the best of days
But if it has to end
I'm glad you have been my friend
In the time of our lives

We say goodbye
We hold on tight
To these memories
That never die
We say goodbye
We hold on tight
To these memories
That never die

We have had the time of our lives
Now the page is turned
The stories we will write
We have had the time of our lives
And I will not forget
The faces left behind
It's hard to walk away
From the best of days
But if it has to end
I'm glad you have been my friend
In the time of our lives
I'm glad you have been my friend
In the time of our lives

Tyrone Wells. Lyrics to “Time of Our Lives.” AZLyrics, 2019, https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tyronewells/timeofourlives.html

As I sat outside later in the day, soaking in the sunshine remembering how much you loved the outdoors, I saw small reminders of joy.

A baby bird came to greet me on the sidewalk before scampering away to the other side.

A nest of baby bunnies nestled deep in the grass.

A Boston cap and a clay frog, reminders of the things that brought you joy when you were here.

Two years later, I am choosing to celebrate joy.

I know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

kindness, mom, Tiny Tech Cafe

When You Least Expect It

October 14, 2016December 31, 2020 Tamara

One sure sign of birthday season is an absence of my blog posts filling your feeds. Every September and October, as I focus on my children and their joyous days-of-birth, I tend to wrap my attention around them, leaving less time to stop, pause, and reflect.

Does this mean that I have stopped showing kindness to others? Oh, goodness, no! But my time has been limited, thus impacting my natural ebb and flow of writing.

Since my last blog post, there have been countless acts of kindness, too many to recount and post. Nothing spectacular, no grandiose expressions of greatness, just me being me and you being you; small acts of love shared here and there.

I received two new book donations to our Tiny Tech Cafe which is so exciting! Our lending library is expanding!

I was able to pay-it-forward with a few notes to coworkers to lift their spirits and remind them that they matter to me:

Today when I arrived to work, there was a darling container of hand-picked flowers with a sweet message waiting for me:

When was the last time you received an anonymous gift that made you smile?

This small ray of sunshine was actually a perfectly-timed gift of compassion. As many of you know, my mom is walking through her journey of Stage 4 small cell lung cancer. There have been ups, downs, and moments where I swear I thought the train was derailed. This was one of those weeks. But these flowers reminded me that all things blossom in their own time and small things matter!

So today, I’m celebrating the small things.

My mom had to get a lung test today as she struggles daily to breathe and her pulmonologist needs to know what’s going on inside. Right now we are taking it day-by-day. To make my mom smile and focus on other things, I promised her a yummy lunch to celebrate her very first lung test.

We ate at Baker’s Crust and had the most attentive waiter one could hope for. We tasted samples of homemade soup, shared stories of my kiddos, and I even got her synced up with Words With Friends again (so feel free to invite her to a game!)

Then came the main meal. Oh. My. Goodness! We both agreed her Wine Country salad with Raspberry Vinaigrette was much better than my Caprese Panini.

On the way back from lunch, we talked again about her visiting my Tiny Tech Cafe. “Maybe we could go next week.”

No.

How can we live in the moment, if we keep putting off today?

Forty-five minutes later, I was popping wheelies with my mom in a wheelchair as we made our way around campus.

(OK, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. You know if I tried to pop a wheelie with mom in a wheelchair we would BOTH end up on the ground!)

Today was a good day. My mom got to sit in the Tiny Tech Cafe!

JOY!

As much joy as this brought to my soul, what actually made me happiest was hearing my mom’s laughter as she fussed at me for holding on to her wheelchair going down the ramp in our building. “Let go of the chair! I want to feel it roll!”

So I let go and my mom was free.

Her laughter echoed against the walls, her arms outstretched, bracing for impact as the wheelchair gained momentum reaching the bottom of the ramp.

For just one moment, there was no cancer, there were no worries, and everything was right with the world.

Friends, thank you for being such faithful readers. Thank you for allowing me to pour my heart into your life through my stories. Thank you for lifting me up when I can’t find the words, when my writing comes to a standstill, when my thoughts are going in a thousand different directions, but not a single complete thought is shared.

We are sharing this journey of life together and I appreciate being on the road with you.

Until next time! Be kind and #CelebrateEverything!

grief, kindness, mom

Taking Care of Business

April 29, 2016April 6, 2021 Tamara

April 29, 2016.

The date on the calendar was blank except for the small printed words to the side: “T & D – Taking care of business”

I picked up my mom and took her out for breakfast, a long-awaited trip to Cracker Barrel. The morning was gloomy and my heart was sad, knowing my brother-in-law’s nephew was being laid to rest just a few hours later. There was a tragic accident the weekend before, an accident that shocked our small community, and the aftermath was, and is, too raw to put into words. While I wanted to be there to support my brother-in-law and his family, I knew it was right to keep my promise with my mom.

Today was an important day.

I arrived at my mom’s house, her breathing heavy and labored, but she was ready to get the day started. The dreary weather matched my mood as the drizzling rain made our hair frizz around our faces.

Correction.

My hair. My face. My mom lost her hair weeks ago.

Again.

We sat at the table and opened our menus, the elephant in the room peering over our shoulders as we placed our orders. Eggs over easy with a side of bacon. Sourdough bread, toasted.

The banter between us was light, the usual chit-chat you might find between a mother and daughter, talk of work and weather and kids. We both knew why we were having breakfast today, and how the day would unfold, but it wasn’t until the coffee arrived that we finally invited that elephant in the room to sit down and join our conversation.

Today was the day we planned my mother’s funeral.

We jokingly called it our “Girl’s Day Out,” knowing of course that it broke all the rules of conventionality. I asked her questions – lots of questions – and made notes on my iPad as we talked about details, decisions, and death.

We talked about services. We talked about songs. We spent a long time discussing hospice. We lamented about the exorbitant cost of funerals, then pondered the necessity for so many rituals. We discovered a need for an updated will.

We were making plans, much like a mother and daughter planning a wedding, but roles were now reversed. I was the mother. She was my child. I wanted to make sure her wishes were granted.

In the midst of our breakfast with the dishes cleared and coffee refilled we talked about flowers and photos. “I don’t need much,” she said, “Let’s keep it simple.”

We shifted gears and shopped for a bit and she found a blouse she liked. “If you like it, it’s yours!” I exclaimed, her Mother’s Day gifts bought without hesitation.

We found a photo frame to memorialize her husky, Ivan, who suddenly passed away the week before after 10 years in her care. The circle of life never stops, whether pet or parent or child. It’s important to remember those things that bring us joy.

As we window shopped for this and that, we found humor in silly things. The baby boy frog shoes we would have bought in an instant, if my baby boy wasn’t almost seven. The sparkled shoes, the overpriced scarves, even the pajamas with sailboats gave us a giggle. She glanced at the chocolate bars by the register and I had her choose her favorite to add to the pile. “Never say no to chocolate,” I reminded, “You only live once.”

Indeed.

We took selfies at storefronts and shared stories from our past. We chose objects that would have special meaning once she is gone.

Were tears shed today as we planned for the future that would not include her vibrance? Of course. But today was a day filled with making memories and the laughter overcame the sorrow.
Whether you are healthy or sick, feeble or strong, I encourage you to take time for your loved ones. Open the door to those difficult conversations. Make plans for today and tomorrow, even if you don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

Allow yourself to be happy. Find joy in the mundane. Remind someone that they are loved and show them with actions and words. Take pictures and be silly, even if you know people are staring at you like you’re a fool.

Be you. Be free. Make memories. These are the days you will always remember, and the laughter will rise like the sun, warming your heart for years to come.

Kind Actions

Yellow Brick Road

August 13, 2015 Tamara

Do you ever have those mornings where you wake from a dream, still half-asleep, remembering bits and pieces of the plot, trying to recapture the events before they fade away? Or maybe you wake with such clarity, a problem solved, a peace that suddenly washes over you like fresh water from a crystal-clear mountain stream.

Both happened to me this week.

I was thinking about my mom, who was diagnosed with extensive stage small cell lung cancer in June. (Go ahead and Google it – it’s the worst kind.) Her health has rapidly declined; from sitting on the sidelines cheering at my son’s soccer game in late May to sleeping in a recliner with an oxygen tank in August. She has a big trip planned in a few weeks to Boston; the chemo stripping away her hair is providing her the extra boost to make the trip a reality. We spend our days not making plans for coming years, but cherishing the moments of now and laughing about the memories of before.

My mom has been blessed by the kindness of others. When I returned from my vacation, she couldn’t wait to show me all the “treats” she received from close friends during my absence. Magazines. Candy. Amazon gift cards (she has a Kindle and loves to read). Beauty products. Cards. Small little treasures with encouraging words. Hats. Chocolate.

She was in tears reflecting on the kindness of others in her time of greatest need. The thoughtfulness. The generosity. The compassion. These are words that now take on new meaning for my mom. She even received a handwritten letter from a girl who knew her as a child – my mom taught her how to ice skate and even to this day, the girl-turned-woman wanted my mom to know how special that day was for her.

We shared a long conversation about how people react when you tell them this kind of news and how your relationship with certain people changes. To quote her directly, “You really do see who your true friends are.” I reminded her that some people haven’t had a lot of experience with someone dying; others may be frozen in the perpetual state of “I don’t know what to say/do/feel.” She nodded, more in acceptance than agreement.

My mom is walking on the yellow brick road.

She landed here in a whirlwind, totally unprepared, taken completely off-guard; a stranger in the midst of doctors, legalities, and chemicals she can barely pronounce, much less spell. She is told to move forward. Get started. Go.

Follow the yellow brick road.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the yellow brick road.

(I bet I have you singing now, don’t I? Ahhhh, a little laughter to lighten the load is always nice.)

Just like in the movie, my mom is following the advice of others and hoping for the best. She will encounter people along her path that will become new friends and others that simply slip away unseen. She will have to crawl through meadows that glisten brightly, invitingly, but end up making her so exhausted she can’t keep her eyes open. She will encounter setbacks that darken her skies and threaten her with fear.

She will have to make decisions on her own and hope the road leads her to the place where her friends can receive courage, insight, and overflowing hearts of love. Despite her final wish to return to the place she calls home, she will want confirmation that her friends received their gifts first.

Did I mention that my mom’s name is Dorothy? It’s true.

My mom is on the yellow brick road. She is following the path, walking one foot in front of the other (even if only in her mind.) She will take that trip to Boston and it will be fantastic! She will then return home to more rounds of chemo that will hopefully give her a bit more bonus time to enjoy.

As her only child, and loudest spokesperson (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, lol), I want to say thank you. Thank you for remembering my mom. Thank you for being mature enough to let bygones be bygones and see the person she is now, not the person she was before. Thank you for leaving notes on her Facebook page, even if only to say “Hi, thinking of you.” Thank you for reminding her of all the wonderful reasons to live and the impact she’s had on your life. Thank you for remembering her husband and surprising her with unexpected treats and goodies. Thank you for your acts of kindness.

I don’t know how many miles this yellow brick road stretches out. I do know that when the road ends, she will meet the grand Oz himself and she will be reminded with a whisper in her ear: “You always had the power, my dear, you just had to learn it yourself.”

Tag: mom

Seven Years

Lobster Roll Memories

Four Years

This Moment

Subscribe

Two Years

When You Least Expect It

Taking Care of Business

Yellow Brick Road