RIP, mommy. I love you.

It's almost been four years. That's completely crazy, knowing that I've made it this far without you, I know. I still can't believe you're gone. You weren't like any other mom that I've ever met. You were goofy, and silly, and awesome. Your favorite place to eat was Taco Bell, you loved going on those huge roller coasters at the amusement parks, you rode that kick ass motorcycle, and you were my weed-smoking mommy. I loved everything about you.

I miss you so much, and you were entirely too young to die so suddenly. I'm so sorry. I know it's all my fault. You were coming home because I was getting off of school and you knew how much I loved coming home and having you to hug. You left your mom's house on your motorcycle, without your helmet of course, seeing as how you officially were licensed to ride a motorcycle, you didn't need to wear a helmet. So you didn't, so it wouldn't mess up your hair. I know how much you loved having a good hair-do. And look where that got you. Stuck under a semi-truck's tires. Congratulations. And it's all my fault. I was the one that wanted you to be home, and I wasn't even grateful for it. I never thanked you for being home when I got there. But you knew I was grateful, and that I was very thankful.

Nothing's the same without you. It never will be. Your sister betrayed your niece, whom just so happen to give birth to a beautiful baby girl. I know you would have loved her just as much as I do. I know you would have kicked your sister into the next year if you were alive, and saw what she did to her. I'm so sorry you have to watch all of this from your sacred place.

I know you don't like what I keep doing. From the cutting, crying myself into an emotional coma, and everything else you've witnessed me do. I'm so sorry, I wish you could feel how sorry and hurt that I am that I did that to you.

I wish you could see me now, though. I'm getting a little bit stronger with every passing day. I might be an emotional wreck by myself, but you would be proud of what a good actress your daughter has become. I can go from crying hysterically to being so happy for everyone else. No one else needs to know what I'm having problems with, especially since they're done over your death and everything.

But I'm not. I'm supposed to be having a wonderful Mother's Day with you, maybe go out to a nice place to eat and spend some time with my family, buy you chocolates and carnations. I know how much you love those flowers, trust me. I should be getting you a goofy card from the nearest store that would make you smile your beautiful smile. But I'm not. I'm going to spend Mother's Day sitting at your grave, just to sit some lousy card that I picked out numbly from a stupid convenient store on it. That's how pathetic Mother's Day is. It's so pointless when you're not here. I know we're not going to acknowledge it as a family, me, dad and Brandon. Brandon doesn't give a s*** about you, dad's always out or sleeping, and I'm always cooped up in my room. But I promise that if I can get enough courage to do that for you, I will. Don't hold too much faith in me, though. You've seen how faithful I am.

I need help. I'm a wreck inside, and it's all your fault. I had so much love for you, you were my whole world. I looked up to you, and I wasn't embarrassed like other people always were when it came to bringing their parents in on Open House at school. But you only got the chance to go once, my sixth grade year. You died 23 days after that day. I'm so sorry you aren't going to be here for everything that I'm going to go through.

From my graduation, to college, to maybe getting married, to having a baby or two, everything. I'm going to go through it all without you. I get to see everyone else having their mom there for them, but not me. I don't get that sort of privilege anymore.

I talked about you the other day with my friends at lunch. We were talking about funerals, and it got on the subject of our first funerals. I remember going to your grandmother's funeral, a bit, but that wasn't really a funeral. I went to the showing, and I listened to a bunch of old people talk about a lady that I never knew. So I said yours was the first I'd ever been to. Things didn't get too awkward, but they still did nonetheless. Cole didn't even know that I didn't have you, which made everyone laugh and the mood got a little lighter. Well, as lighter as it could be for us to be talking about funerals.

I'm so sorry that I'm in this state right now. You never thought that your little girl was going to grow up to be an emotionally deprived little b****. You never thought I would be so helpless and bitter. But honestly, what do you expect when I get denied the one person that was supposed to be there for me for everything? I get left out of things because of you. I remember when I was in sixth or seventh grade, we were all in gym and everyone was talking about how old/young their moms were. One of the cuter, preppier girls was going around and asking everyone how old their moms' were. My last name being Whitlock, and our seating being in alphabetical order, I was last. She went up and down every row, and when it was mine, I was obviously skipped. Just because you're not here doesn't mean you don't have an age. 30 when you died, 33 if you were alive now. Until September 28th, though.

I want you here so bad, mommy. I miss you so much it hurts every part of my body, mind, and soul. How am I supposed to be happy when you're gone forever? It's so obvious that no girl should have to go a day without her mom, let alone the rest of her life. What am I supposed to do when I need to talk to a girl about anything? I don't trust anyone else with my problems, I only trusted you. No one else is going to have the honor of being talked to from me like they're my mom. I'm going to have to go through the rest of my life without knowing what it's like to be able to say your name in present tense. I will never be able to say anything like "going to the mall with my mom." or anything along those lines. I'll never be able to hug you, or tell you anything anymore. I'll never see your face, smell the perfume on covers you'd lay around with, or anything. I'm scared that I'm going to forget your face, or your voice, everything. I don't want to forget you, but every day it seems like I can't remember something new.

But I will never forget the look on your face in that coffin. Your hair was down and curly -- which almost never, ever happened unless it was that rare occurrence where you'd pin the front part of your hair back and keep it down & curly -- and there wasn't a lick of hairspray in it. Hairspray was your best friend, I remember you having to go buy more every week. Your hair was always too crazy without hairspray. And you weren't wearing makeup. You always wore make up. You were wearing a racing t-shirt, because you and dad were supposed to have gone and left to go to some races, and that was the t-shirt that you were going to wear to it. You were wearing those capris that you only wore when you went to the races, too. I didn't see your feet, but I know you were wearing the Nike's that you always wore. You had your wedding ring on, and a bracelet. You never wore bracelets, I don't even know where they got the bracelet. I could tell your lips were glued shut, along with your eyes. I couldn't bare looking at you anymore.

I spent most of the rest of the funeral outside with kids from my school. I know they didn't really care, but I'm happy that some of them actually came. It helped keep my mind off of things, and they were there to listen to me try to be goofy and okay. They didn't mind, and neither did I. Then it came time where we were all seated and they began talking about you. All the kids from school sat in the back, and I four rows back. They sang Amazing Grace, like they do at every freaking funeral, and then the pastor of the church said stuff about God or something, I don't know. I blocked her out. But then Renae went up there and tried to talk about you, and she couldn't. She started crying before she even got so much as a paragraph out. Then someone else went up and read a poem that they made for you. After everyone was all done with talking, everyone took turns going up to coffin and saying goodbye or whatever. I remember seeing all kinds of silly things in it. It had jalapeño flavored chips in it, a pack of cigarettes, a copy of a poem that my childhood friend had wrote for you, flowers, letters, pictures of the family, everything.

For the longest time, I blamed you. I cried until my heart couldn't take it, blaming you, asking you why you did this to me. Why you would want to hurt me like you were. I guess that was stupid, but it is your fault. You're the one that didn't wear the helmet, you were the one that was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, you didn't take the right kinds of precautions, and that landed you in a terrible place. You should have known that something like that could have happened at any moment that you got on that motorcycle. But you didn't let that stop you at all, nope. You went ahead and did everything the way you wanted, which lost me a mom and a best friend. I didn't even get to say bye. The last thing I said to you was "I'm going to go." You were half asleep and I was leaving for school. I didn't tell you that I love you or bye or anything. Just "I'm going to go." To which you responded with mumbling nonsense that weren't words at all.

They always told me that someday I'm going to be able to laugh about you or laugh and smile at memories of you, but I can't. They make me want to cry and tear apart myself one inch of flesh at a time. If I keep reacting the way that I am, I might just do that without noticing. You're driving me crazy, not being here. Making me suffer like this. I don't like crying my eyes out almost every night because of you. I don't like being motherless. I don't like having absolutely no mother figure whatsoever. I don't like knowing that you're somewhere better while I'm stuck in this place without you. I don't like that I don't have anyone to talk to about you. I don't like that I have to keep everything to myself because every time I try to talk to someone, they don't get it and they say the same thing as everyone always says. I can't do this much longer, I'm going to break, and I'll be further gone than anyone could ever save me from. I'm scared of that, though. I don't want to be there, I don't want to be that helpless. I need help, but I'm not going to admit that to anyone, you're crazy if you think that. There has got to be some magical, voodoo that you can do to help me, you promised that you would always be there to help whenever I needed you to be, no matter what. And now I need your help. But you're nowhere in sight, are you? You probably don't even care. I know you don't. You don't worry about me, not anymore at least. I'm nothing to you now, just your living daughter. The one that survived. You don't need me, you never did, so you're just going to leave me here to rot.

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  • wow... I can't say anything. Not even an "I'm sorry", because, from a stranger, I know that probably doesn't mean much. I can say, however, that it's not OK, and will never be OK. Death is something that many people don't understand, and don't feel. It sucks, and probably always will. Just remember though, your not alone. I'm sorry.

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