It is 8:27 a.m., and you've been gone exactly one week. I am counting the days. Somehow, they matter. So many days with you — and now seven without. 

I'm holding your hand, watching you breathe...and like the slow drop of leaves late in the fall, I'm thinking about me and you. Singing the lullaby you once sang to me, reflecting on our journey.

You were there from the beginning.
My very first heartbeat was inches away from your own.
Your ears were the first to hear me cry.
Your eyes, the first I looked into.
Your hand, the first to hold mine.

There are so many firsts — my first words, my first steps, my first day of school. I don't remember them all, but you were there.

I’m gently holding your hand and telling you I love you, Mom. It’s going to be okay. You are going to be okay. We are going to be okay.  You can let go.

I’m holding your hand, watching you struggle to breathe and thinking that I would change places with you to give you a break…to breathe with ease.  I would if I could.

And I think of you and of us…and our journey as mother and daughter..

How many of life's hard lessons did you walk through with me? All of them. Not with obvious outward compassion but in your expressions - you wore my hardships as your own - in your eyes and how you reacted. My happiness was also your happiness,  How proud you could be. 

A  little spark in your eyes and  “I’m so happy for you.” “ Shanny, that’s wonderful.”

This is the bond, the forever bond, between a mother and daughter.

How proud were you of my wins — even if you couldn't always show it? I know now.
You believed in me like no other person could -maybe even more than myself.

So much of you is in me — and I embrace all of it.  The beautiful and wonderfully complexity of being perfectly imperfect.

I share your determined, untethered spirit — always dancing to the beat of a different drum. You, often misunderstood, even by me. Sooooo much love to give but also needed acceptance.

I saw it. And I saw you.  Maybe for the first time, about 4 years ago and it forever changed the way I think about you. Years of not understanding you were gone and it made way for me to see you fierceness, your courage, your strength, your love, and your true and beautiful essence.

To me and for everyone who knows you, you modeled compassion, generosity, empathy.

You were my best audience — and were always laughing at my jokes and applauding my kitchen performances.
I inherited your dance moves and quirky sense of humor. 

You were my champion, my #1 fan, and my best friend.

Who will call to make sure I've had dinner?  Who will want to hear about the shenanigans of my fur family - the antics of Kito, Lilly, Kaya and Reina.  They brought you joy - and you loved them, because you know how much they mean to me.  You were their protector.  Their guardian. 

Who else could be excited about hearing my mundane routine of the day - what I ate for breakfast, what will I eat for dinner.  Only you. 

And your questions…always asking questions.  And me, getting short at times, but then catching myself and remembering how I will miss these someday, and then my frustration replaced by patience, and then gratitude.

Who will laugh at all my silly jokes? 

It’s 8:27 a.m., and you've been gone exactly one week. I'm still counting the days.
Will I ever stop? I don't know.
But I catch myself looking at my phone to see your name, La Mama, looking for a call, a text— and I can't believe you never will again.

Beautiful Mom — your bright spirit and generous soul have left an indelible imprint on this earth, but especially on me.

We traveled through so much together — the highs, the lows.
An arduous journey between mother and daughter — toward love, understanding, and forgiveness.  The journey that only a mother and daughter can walk.

You were with me for my first breath of life.
I was with you for your last.

As long as my heart beats, it will beat with the memory of your big heart, brave love, and your fighting spirit, and our unique, complex, and ultimately rewarding mother-daughter journey. 

See you in heaven, Linda Lou. I love you.