Dear Mom -
I'm still pretty pissed at you.
You died and I wasn't done needing you yet.
And now it's been five months and you haven't even visited me.
Kim says you are still watching over me and that's why John didn't get hurt when the swing broke last week. Yes, in case she's wrong and you don't know about this, the swing broke just like last summer. He wasn't hurt this time, just scared to death.
Well if it was you that kept him from getting hurt thank you. But it's not enough.
You know we joked about how you'd come back and haunt us if we did things you didn't like. And I believed you when you told me how your grandmother visited you when Dad was in Vietnam. And I know you believed me when I told you about Pop being here in my house in Memphis the night he died.
So where are you? No dreams. No visions. No visits.
I want levitating dishes or things in the house mysteriously moved. I want vivid dreams that I remember in the morning of you telling me my future or giving me answers I'm seeking. I want that psychic lady that used to be on the Montel Williams show telling me something only you would know.
Tonight Matt was driving (yes, he has his permit now. At least you aren't around to have that worry!) and I was playing with the radio. He HATES when I constantly flip radio channels. Anyway, I was flipping through and he said "stop there."
It was Neil Diamond's Cracklin' Rosie. What 17-year-old boy wants to listen to Neil Diamond?
But we did. And I told him how when me and Kim were kids we would all dance in the kitchen to Neil Diamond.
And for a few minutes I laughed and smiled and forgot to be mad at you.