Hey Bubbie,

After a bereavement counseling session, my therapist advised me to write my feelings down. I was going to do this anyway, but her recommendation just strengthened my resolve.

It's been a month since you said "see ya later" and returned to heaven. These last four weeks, I've felt like a bi-polar person who forgot to take their meds to level them out. I've felt bouts of sadness, depression, happiness, confusion, anger, frustration, loneliness and probably a host of others that I just wasn't aware of. When you passed away, I think the kid in this commercial sums up my feelings quite well.

I'm 22 years old, I'll be 23 in a few minutes, but I felt like a 5 year old kid whose world was shattered after losing their mother.

I knew things wouldn't be the same. I just didn't know the extent of it. After a month, the house is still how it was when you were still here.

In the bathroom, your toothbrush is still in the toothbrush holder, your combs and other toiletries are still out. The colored contacts that I bought you are still unused and sealed in the mirror cabinet. In the kitchen your favorite snacks are still in the cupboards, the things that you liked to eat (veggie lasagna, liver, popsicles, etc.) are still in the freezer waiting for you to eat them. In the pantry/walk-in closet area, your clothes are still hung with care and your shoes are still nicely stacked. The other day, just for the memories I went back there and wore one of your dresses and pairs of shoes, thinking about that smack talk you were going to give me when I got home and you found out I was wearing your stuff. Again. :) When that didn't happen, my heart sank. In your bedroom, your dresser still holds all your perfume (your special Red Door perfume, that just makes me think of you), jewelry and more. Your corner of the room is tidy and the laptop still on its charge waiting for you to log on to facebook and like my pictures that you never got to see. Your room, the living room, it just equals you. The couch covers when they start sliding off, I can hear you say "fix the couch" or whenever me and RJ are sitting in your spot, you pull a Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory and playfully tell us to move over to the other side.

There are so many other constant reminders as well. Our home feels more like a dormitory. Where we, me, RJ and dad come out of our cocoons for a few minutes and say hi to each other and check in on one another then we return to our personal spaces until the next time we want to just talk to someone because we are sick of being alone.

But this is good. We need to be by ourselves for a time and then re-join others for a time as well. Bubbie, I can say with all certainty that we are being looked after. There have been so many angels on this side that have cared about the wellbeing of me, RJ and dad. Without their kind words, or acts of kindness, prayers and well wishes, I don't know where I would be. Especially after the memorial service and even more so when I had to pick up your ashes in which I was confronted with the cold, hard, merciless truth that you were not coming back. That you were not in Tennessee or just in the hospital or Hospice like I was hopelessly and foolishly trying to delude myself into believing.

Over the past few weeks, I've been like a pressure cooker. I've let the pressure build up until it wreaked havoc on me emotionally and physically. So I'm letting go. The best way for me to do this is by writing you "letters". The feeling that I can't talk to you is what hurts the most so even by writing these "letters" it makes it easier for me.

I look at the clock now and I see that it's my 23rd birthday - the day I was blessed to have you and dad for parents. It's bittersweet. It's tradition that you buy a cake, take a picture of said cake. Simple, I know, But that's what you did. You have pictures of me and RJ with our cakes since we were born up until this year of course.

People when they hear about your passing, they always ask, is there anything that they can do to help. If I knew it was possible, I would say, "fast forward time". Yeah, time doesn't take away the pain, but it softens it and gives the phrase "one day at a time" a new and relevant meaning.

Although this is my first birthday without you, make no mistake Bubbie, it's going to be a great day. Later today I'll be participating in a roller derby bout in which the charity will be Hospice, the wonderful people who took care of you during your final days. Tonight, I skate for you, Bubbie.

So my love, I hope all is well and always know that I love you and I miss you. RJ and I are solid in our resolve to make sure we do you proud.

Dot was a giver: She gave a smile, she gave kind words, she gave appreciation, she gave honor, credit, and applause, she gave time, she gave hope, she gave hahppiness, she gave encouragement, she gave cheer, she gave pleasant, she gave good thoughts, she gave prayer Sickness Is Swallowed love u see u in the rapture. Your step mom Lessie Foster.