When you said Liberty Hill Farm was “the land of your inheritance,” your very own “Zion,” or that you wanted to die there, I didn’t think you were serious. I guess it’s too late now to insist we purchase a property with much less land, and definitely no space for any livestock huh?
hey mom. I miss you, okay?
I miss your laugh. Your smile. Your poofy hair. Talking to you for hours. Foot rubs. Neck releases. Following you around on your list of errands for the day just so I could hang out with you. I miss all your momisms – “Ideally,” “have you considered,” “template,” to name a few. I miss your tiny handwriting. I miss your family calendar. The sparkle in your eyes when the love inside you was so big it just had to radiate out from somewhere. Your excited shriek accompanied by your stamping your feet up and down in delight. Waiting for you impatiently in the car and thinking to myself about the fact that you were choosing to be late…and could choose otherwise. I miss your forgiveness of a young, stubborn, daughter who was sure she had all the answers. I miss you tucking me in at night, just to say you loved me. I miss telling you about my classes and the things I was learning. I miss discussing issues we didn’t agree upon, and being able to say what I really felt and thought. Mostly I just miss you.
I know you already know all that, and I know you’re always going to be there for me, maybe I just needed to let the world know I miss you.
Also, I want to say thank you.
Thank you for making the best homemade rolls in the world. Thanks for your delicious granola, for pizza, dried bananas, and – yes, I’m serious – even for Lentils. Thank you for cuisinaire rods, those little boards with nails and rubberbands, for tin whistles and penny whistles, for music, for my cello, for rides to and from Carey’s for so many years. Thank you for playing twenty-questions with your 10-year-old daughter when you probably just wanted to be inside your own head. Thank you for being true to yourself no matter what anyone else said, and for teaching your children to do the same. Thank you for always reading a beautiful, interesting book. Thank you for your life-long search for knowledge and truth. And most of all, thank you for shedding your selkie skin long enough to come and be my Mom.
I wish I could give you this note in person, that I could tell you all of these things now, and that I could be a better daughter than I was before, but I know you don’t want that. I know you know how I feel, and that you are proud of your little musician attending The Cleveland Institute of Music just like she always dreamed she would. I’m going to count on you to point me along my path, to help me find MY Zion, and the land of MY inheritance.
Love you Mom.
Arielfy
