Dear Mom and Dad,
It feels like ages since we last spoke. I’m uncertain what you know or have heard about my life. There’s so much I want to share, but I hardly know where to start. A few summers back, I married Mike, and on November 11, 2012, I received my first positive pregnancy test. My initial reaction was sheer disbelief—“Oh my god, it worked!” I reached for my phone, eager to tell you the wonderful news that you would become grandparents. But then I hesitated and put it down. Did you realize that? That moment was bittersweet, knowing I couldn’t share my joy with you.
The first trimester was particularly rough. Mom, even though you couldn’t have taken away the nausea, having you there for the little things, like driving me to the midwife or picking up my medication, would have made a world of difference. On one especially tough night, I needed you to hold my hair back, just like you did when I was a little girl. But you weren’t there.
I endured nearly 24 hours of labor with Mia. I waited so long to go to the hospital, terrified they would send me home. I had never experienced labor before, but you both had. You could have told Mike it was time to rush to Boston—help me avoid all that pain in a place filled with so many memories. But there was silence from you.
In case you didn’t know, everything went well. Delivering Mia was one of the happiest moments of my life. But a few days later, when I noticed her eyes were just like yours, I broke down in tears. Did you know that? Mia had severe jaundice, and we had to take her to the NICU. We were discharged a few days later, but I could have really used your support. You never came to visit.
Watching Mia grow and hit her milestones has been indescribable. When she took her first steps, she was so proud of herself. It was heartbreaking when she started identifying family members, and you weren’t among them. You are her grandparents—my parents! Do you know how crushing that felt for me?
Then I found out I was expecting again—sooner than we had planned, but we were thrilled. I worried about managing two kids under two. Even though my brother and I are 11 years apart, I would have loved to discuss my concerns with you. Perhaps you could have offered to lend a hand while I adjusted to being a mother of two.
During my 20-week appointment, we had the ultrasound technician write down the baby’s sex and seal it in an envelope. I wanted to share that moment with you both. Instead, Mike and I went to the healing garden at the top of the Yawkey Building, a place I remember visiting with you, Mom. Did you know? Mike called out to the heavens—“It’s a boy!” Did you hear him? Dad, you were getting a grandson! I wanted to laugh with you about passing down that baseball glove you gave me when I was 11. You could have played catch with Tommy just like you did with me. Did you know I named him after you?
The kids call you Nana and Papa. We look at your picture every day and say, “Hi.” Mia tells me you’re “up in the blue sky” watching over her and Tommy. Did you see all those moments when I wanted and needed you here? I don’t want you to feel guilty about it, though. Let me explain.
Mom, when I first saw that positive test, I called Aunt Linda. We talked about how overjoyed you and Dad would be and how wonderful you both were with children. Aunt Sarah took me to get my medication when I couldn’t keep food down. She comforted me, apologizing that it wasn’t you who was there. Aunt Linda held my hand while I labored and ensured I was ready for the hospital. My mother-in-law, Carol, was with me in the delivery room when Mia was born. She told me you were right there with us, Mom. Aunt Sarah brought us coffee while Mike and I stayed with Mia in the NICU. And Mike—he’s the angel you sent to guide me. I know that.
None of them can ever fill your shoes, but they certainly help ease the pain. Some days are manageable, while others feel overwhelmingly heavy without you. I promise I won’t let your memory fade. My children will know the incredible people you were and how much you loved them. I will tell them stories of your pride in them and how much they meant to you. I won’t mention how heartbreaking it must have been for you to envision these moments back when you were still with us. Did you realize how challenging this was for me? Did it hurt to think that cancer would steal your chance to know my husband and children?
Sometimes my laughter resembles yours, Mom, so my kids get to experience a piece of you. And Dad, I find myself breaking into silly songs and dances like you used to do, allowing my children to engage with your spirit. Doing this without my parents was never going to be easy, but I’m taking it one day at a time. I frequently speak about you and think of you every day. I wonder, because I never hear from you, did you know all of this?
Love,
Brittany