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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
I was cleaning out the bottom drawer of her old dresser\u2014one I hadn\u2019t been able to open since the funeral. It still smelled like her lotion, like lavender and something warm I couldn\u2019t name.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t even sure what I was looking for. Maybe a photo, a scarf. Maybe just a reason to cry without feeling like I was falling apart again.<\/p>\n
And then I found it.<\/p>\n
A folded piece of stationery tucked behind a stack of receipts and birthday cards from years ago. The handwriting on the envelope was unmistakable\u2014loopy and light. For my baby, it said. That was her. She always called me that, even when I turned thirty.<\/p>\n
I sat on the floor, knees to my chest, and read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, out loud, just to hear her voice in my head.<\/p>\n
She\u2019d written it like she knew. Like somehow, she knew she wouldn\u2019t be here much longer. Every line felt like she was sitting next to me, brushing my hair behind my ear the way she used to when I was little and couldn\u2019t sleep.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy beautiful baby,
\nI don\u2019t know why I had to leave you so soon.
\nI wish there was a reason,
\nan explanation that could ease your pain.
\nBut there isn\u2019t.
\nIt was simply my time\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019ll be honest\u2014I cried so hard my chest hurt. It felt like someone had scooped my heart out with a dull spoon. But also\u2026 there was something comforting about it. The way she talked to me in the letter, it didn\u2019t sound like goodbye. More like I\u2019m still with you. Just not the way you\u2019re used to.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t believe her at first.<\/p>\n
But then something happened the next morning. Something I still can\u2019t explain.<\/p>\n
I was rushing to get to work\u2014running late as usual\u2014when I knocked over the small mirror in the hallway. It should\u2019ve cracked. It\u2019s cheap glass and hardwood floors. But it didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Instead, it landed face up. And as I bent down to grab it, I paused.<\/p>\n
Because for the first time since Mom passed, I didn\u2019t see someone broken in the reflection. My face looked\u2026 calm. Not happy, not exactly. But grounded. Like maybe I was gonna be okay. It felt like she was telling me, See? I\u2019m right here.<\/p>\n
Still, grief isn\u2019t something you just walk away from. It doesn\u2019t pack up its bags after a nice letter and leave you in peace. But something shifted that day.<\/p>\n
I started carrying the letter with me. I folded it neatly into my wallet, next to an old photo of Mom and me at the beach. I stopped avoiding the things that reminded me of her. I started cooking her recipes again\u2014her lemon garlic chicken that always made the house smell like love.<\/p>\n
Then one night, something weird happened. I was at the grocery store, and a woman tapped me on the shoulder while I was reaching for canned tomatoes.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look just like your mother,\u201d she said, smiling.<\/p>\n
I blinked. \u201cDid you know her?\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded. \u201cMarisol, right? She used to volunteer at the shelter with me. Talked about you non-stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hadn\u2019t heard that name in years. The shelter. She hadn\u2019t been able to go much near the end, but she always talked about wanting to help women get back on their feet.<\/p>\n
The woman\u2014her name was Sheila\u2014told me there was an opening at the shelter for someone to lead a kids\u2019 art group on weekends. \u201cYour mom always said you were great with kids,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n
I almost brushed it off. I had work, responsibilities, barely enough energy to feed myself most nights.<\/p>\n
But I don\u2019t know\u2026 that letter kept echoing in my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are my legacy.
\nYou are the very best part of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
So I showed up that Saturday. And the next. And the one after that.<\/p>\n
The kids were messy and loud and spilled juice on everything. But they painted with their whole hearts, and they asked me questions like, \u201cDo you believe in angels?\u201d and \u201cCan sadness make your hair fall out?\u201d<\/p>\n
And one little girl\u2014her name was Kiri\u2014told me she didn\u2019t remember what her mom looked like anymore.<\/p>\n
I pulled out the letter. I read it to her.<\/p>\n
She didn\u2019t say anything for a while. But when her aunt came to pick her up, Kiri hugged me and said, \u201cI think my mom sees me too.\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s when I knew.<\/p>\n
Mom didn\u2019t write that letter just for me. She wrote it for anyone who needed to feel seen, even when the person who loved them most couldn\u2019t physically be there.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s been a year now.<\/p>\n
I still miss her every single day. But I\u2019m not stuck anymore. I\u2019m building something\u2014with the same love she built into me. And sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see her smiling through my own tired eyes.<\/p>\n
She was right.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust look into the mirror.
\nLook deep into your own eyes,
\nAnd you\u2019ll see me there.\u201d<\/p>\n
To anyone grieving right now: you\u2019re not alone. They\u2019re not gone. Not really.<\/p>\n
And if this story touched you even just a little, please share it. You never know who needs to feel that kind of love today.
\nLike & share if you believe love never truly leaves us.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I was cleaning out the bottom drawer of her old dresser\u2014one I hadn\u2019t been able to open since the funeral. It still smelled like her lotion, like… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":24681,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-24680","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n