Thursday, December 27, 2012

Dear Amy

I miss you.

I got the news early Christmas evening that you had passed away.

My heart broke. Right there, in the middle of giving my two babies their bath, my heart just shattered.

I cried because I missed you with every ounce of my being with the very next breath I took.

I cried because I had planned to come visit you the following week and immediately realized I was too late. I will regret this for the rest of my life.

I cried because I loved that you had continued to fight and battle and go to all out war against cancer as hard as you could so that you could enjoy one last beautiful Christmas.

I cried because I cannot imagine the absolute breath-taking agony your own Momma must be experiencing, to the depths of her soul, to lose her only daughter at such a young age.

But do you know what made me cry the most? What continues to hurt my heart each and every day?

Knowing that you won't have the chance to be a Momma yourself.

Because Amy? You would have been a damn good Momma.

You know how to love right down to your very core. You know how to live life to the absolute tip-top fullest. You know how to be a true, genuine, loyal friend while expecting nothing in return. You know how to reach out and care for others like no one else can. You know how to bend the rules but only to ensure that those around you are having the best time possible. You know how to fight like hell, like absolute hell, when the odds are stacked against you.

You are what the good Mommas, the truly, truly good Mommas, are made of.

It's not fair, Ames. You should have gotten the chance to be a Momma. Because, like everything else in your life, you would have kicked ass at it.

I will never understand why your time on this Earth had to end so soon. It's just not fair. And my heart is aching and torn and broken.

But Amy? Here's the thing. Because you lived your life to the absolute tip-top fullest, and touched every single person who was lucky enough to know you, you will always, ALWAYS be with us. Because we will remember you. We will think of you. We will love you. Every single day.

And Amy, I promise you this: I will think of you, my beautiful friend, first thing every Christmas morning. I will hang an ornament in your honor and wish you Merry Christmas.

I know, too, you will continue to visit me in my dreams, just as you have over the last three years, just as you did two nights before your time on this Earth came to an end. I will cherish these visits with you and look forward to them.

I miss you. I always will.

And one last thing: I would say rest in peace, but I think a good friend recently put it best when he said, "...nobody who's ever known Amy thinks she's up above without raising a raucous. Heaven just got a little more fun..."

Truer words were never spoken.

I love you.

Your "best best friend,"


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