Mother’s Day is especially hard for me because it was on the day that my family celebrated the occasion in 2006 that I last saw Barry alive. It was a Saturday, the day before the real Mother’s Day.
Every year I try to smile and join the celebrations for the sake of the other mothers in my family and life, but the images I see are of my youngest son weaving through tables with his brother with a big smile on his face, of the two of them sitting and laughing while eating lunch in the restaurant, of watching them fill their plates for a second helping, of Barry walking up the drive towards his friend’s place and that last turn to wave goodbye just before he disappeared.
That’s my last memory of seeing him…four years ago. I’ll never forget it.
We spoke on the phone three times afterwards. On Mother’s Day he phoned me and gave me his best wishes, a little bit of cheek and the magic words “I love you”. On the Monday, Gary and I went on holiday for five days, but I spoke to Barry twice more, so I have the comfort of hearing him laugh again, of hearing him tell me he loved me again. I’ll never forget that either.
I still miss him like you wouldn’t believe. I still wonder what if…
My dearest Barry,
It’s been a while, four long years, and I often wonder if things might have been different if we hadn’t gone away. Yet deep in my heart I know it wouldn’t have changed a thing. In hindsight, I see the truth, but at the time I didn’t know. I was blind and unaware and now I am full of regrets and pain because of that. I wish so many things, but mainly I wish I could have done something. I still do.
I’m sorry for not seeing. I hope you can forgive me, because I can’t quite forgive myself.
I love and miss you so very much.