We miss our mother every day and we think of her every day because we loved and adored her. We never imagined this could happen to her, that she would have to suffer as she did and leave the world so soon. And even while she was going through that nightmare, she still put others first. She told us to pray for a nurse's son, she told a friend she would bring the eucharist to the elderly and infirm if she would have the chance, she told me that she had my dad rub her back more so because it made him feel better than her, and she made sure to make me smile with a joke after I spent the day crying by her side in the ICU. With everything she did throughout her life for others, even in the end, makes it that much more painful to think there was nothing more we could do for her. I don't think she would want us to feel any guilt and I know how much she appreciated our love and the support of her friends. It's heartbreaking, nonetheless. 

Every single day I feel this heartbreak. There won't be a day where the loss of my mother and my best friend won't be painful. I miss her so much.

One day this past year, while reading the novel Frankenstein to my class, I got to a paragraph that almost made me cry on the spot. If you don't know (and honestly, why would you?) the author, Mary Shelley, experienced a lot of loss throughout her life. This pain is clearly expressed in her work, especially in her apt description of the main character's reflections after he loses her mother suddenly to illness:

I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences.

Now that I read through this again, I have to say I'm utterly surprised I didn't cry in front of my students.

Our mom described our dad as her "rock," and he has continued to live up to that description throughout the past year. I can't count the ways that he has helped us and supported us. He has taken to learning more about our past on both sides of the family and is invested in preserving and passing on as much knowledge of his findings as possible. Since he also relies on me, he is now more aware of my tendency to sleep a lot and my propensity for secluding myself away. And he is not used to it yet, but I'm stubborn, so he'll have to eventually. (Sorry, Dad!)

Monica has the most adorable little family. Little Annie is often referred to as "baby bug." Monica is an adorable, caring, patient mother who likes to sing to Annie and ask her, "What's wrong, girlfriend?" when Annie's upset. Annie is precious beyond compare, especially now that she has begun smiling and coo-ing. Meanwhile, her dad is encouraging her to kick her little feet during bathtime and trying to convince her to say, "Dada" first. (I also may have heard him ask her, "Can you say 'Daddy is awesome!'?") They are all a blessing to us this year when it seemed like joy and light would be difficult to come by.

I've already given myself a headache from crying...shoot.

Peter moved, as many of you know, to quite a nice apartment. As with everything else, it wasn't quite the same moving without Mom. I think he is doing a very nice job decorating and taking care of it. I know she would be proud.

What with Covid this past year and Alexandra living so far away, we haven't been able to see her here in Minnesota for a long time. Hopefully, that can change soon.

As always, we appreciate the time, energy, and love that our friends and family have dedicated to us during...everything. And to those who reached out to us today, thank you so much. 

There will always be more to say, but I think I'll leave it here for now. If you have a story about our mother you feel comfortable sharing, I would love to read it.

Have a lovely day. Stay warm and be safe.

With love,
Andrea