listen

lily’s mom, Denise, died in 2008 of endometrial cancer

Mama,

When it was still close to the time of your passing, I liked to imagine I would write a letter to you every day and in the end, when I died, I'd have this perfect account of all the ways I missed you and all the little heartbreaks and joys that had transpired since you died. But I didn't. I wrote a lot, I never stopped writing actually, but I stopped writing to you. In some ways, it's because I started to feel you everywhere. You know that old joke that we’re all just afraid we’re going to become our mothers? I mean, I feel like I actually just am you, no way around it. This year will be 11 years, 11! It feels impossible that you could be gone so long. The thing that always gets me is that I cannot remember the sound of your voice. I can't remember your laugh, I don't know why? I can feel your hands, your body, your hair, but your voice, it's the hardest. I wish I could hear you laugh because maybe then I could remember what it was like to be happy with you, not just to be with you in death. I can't remember your laugh and these days I've given up trying to imagine what you'd say to me if I told you all the things that have happened in my life since you left. I've given up trying to imagine what you might think of me. Even though I was 24, I was so far from adult. I thought I knew so much then and really I just knew maybe two things. I knew how to love you and I knew how to have my heart broken. And then I learned about how to lose it all.

I think too, about the fast path to becoming, to individuating. The ways in which your absence allowed me to find myself, maybe faster than I would have if I'd still been tucking myself into the comfort of your lap. I think about all the ways your absence Hardened me. I wonder if the tissue of my heart muscle changed. Can a heart change shape? I think mine did.

But I digress, a letter should have facts shouldn’t it? Here are a few: I wrote a book, about you really, and it’s published now in two countries and there’s another book on the way. I live in a little sanctuary in the middle of nowhere in a place called Topanga Canyon. I have a garden. I can pick borage and taste its nectar first thing in the morning. I work hard, for myself, and most of the time I'm proud of my work. On Mother's Day, Dad and I facetime and he walks down to your lychee tree in the front yard, we talk about you.

There are so many questions I wish I could ask you, questions I guess I didn’t know enough to ask about when I was younger. I'm still looking for Real, lasting Love. I want a family like we had. I have shed so many tears over so many shitty men. Our government is full of them too, but I see a lot of Hope. There are things happening you might not even believe. There are essential oil stores in the mall now and more women in Congress than ever before. And we almost had a woman president! I think of Grandma Flory whenever I say that, of her being the first female president of Temple Beth-El. I think about the matrilineal power you taught me. I think about everything you made with your hands. Oh, and I should also say, Kathy died. But you know all this don't you? Anyway, there are some facts and this too, I feel very profoundly lucky most of the time. You gave me such a good life, a good start, but I still wish you were here.

I love you always

Me

Lily Diamond is a writer and photographer living in Topanga Canyon, California. She is the creator of Kale & Caramel, a digital space that democratizes wellness for women through simple solutions for wellbeing and unflinching storytelling, and the author of Kale & Caramel: Recipes for Body, Heart, and Table.