I'm so, so sorry, Mom

Dear Sacred Posts,

I need to get this off my chest, even though it's probably too late. I need to say sorry. Really, truly sorry. It’s about my mom. She died last year, and I’m eaten up with guilt.

When I was a teenager, we fought all the time. I was a typical brat, I guess. Everything she did was wrong. She embarrassed me in front of my friends. She didn't understand me. She was just… Mom. And Mom was always the enemy. I slammed doors, yelled, said things I knew would hurt her, like how I wished she wasn't my mother. I was awful. Truly awful. Looking back, I don't know how she put up with me.

And then I went away to college. I thought that would solve everything. Freedom! But it didn’t. I was still angry, still resentful. I called home maybe once a month, usually when I needed money. And when she asked how I was doing, I'd give her a clipped, one-word answer or just change the subject. She always tried to talk, to connect, but I pushed her away. I was so determined to be independent, to be my own person, that I didn't realize I was hurting the one person who loved me unconditionally.

After college, I moved to the city. Got a job, started a life. I still called home occasionally, but the calls were always short, perfunctory. How’s the weather? How’s Dad? Okay, gotta go. I was too busy with my own life to really be present, to really listen. I was so self-absorbed.

Then she got sick. It started with just a cough, then fatigue. But it quickly escalated. Cancer. They caught it late. And suddenly, everything changed. All the anger, all the resentment… it all just evaporated. All that was left was fear. And regret. So much regret.

I started visiting her every weekend. I sat by her bedside, held her hand, tried to make up for lost time. I told her about my life, about my job, about my friends. I tried to be the daughter she always wanted me to be. But it was too late. The cancer was too aggressive.

The last few weeks were the hardest. She was in so much pain. And I was so helpless. I watched her fade away, day by day. And all I could think about was all the time I had wasted, all the opportunities I had missed to tell her I loved her, to thank her for everything she had done for me.

She died peacefully, in her sleep. I was there, holding her hand. And as she took her last breath, I whispered, "I love you, Mom." But I don't know if she heard me.

Now, a year later, I still think about her every day. I see her face in my dreams. I hear her voice in my head. And I'm filled with this overwhelming sense of guilt. I was such a terrible daughter. I took her for granted. I never appreciated her until it was too late.

I know I can’t change the past. I know I can’t bring her back. But I hope, somehow, somewhere, she knows how sorry I am. I hope she knows that I loved her, even when I didn't show it. And I hope she can forgive me.

So, Mom, if you're listening, I'm so, so sorry. I miss you more than words can say.

Love,

Anonymous