My heart is heavy although I know you would not want it to be. I think of you everyday, talk to you everynight. I pray that you are at peace and happy. You made my life worth living. I'm so grateful that I got to be your momma. I would do it all again, even knowing the painful ending. Too gentle for this world, you always were, but you were a blessing to me.

Happy Birthday from this side...see you when I get there.

Love you dearly,
Momma

Hello Sweetie,

I haven't visited this site for quite some time. I guess it's been a year. It always makes me cry, but then, I've been told that's a good thing. I'm kind of an anorexic cryer. I usually have to watch a sad movie or listen to a touching song to prime the pump. Most of the time my heart just feels like a bag of wet sand. Maybe this is just a bad dream and I'll wake up soon and you'll come home so I can hug you. I do feel your energy so strong sometimes. I just wish I could touch you.

Music seems to be the thing that has kept me hanging on. The band has progressed quite a bit but you probably already know that. We're playing at The Roast House restaurant tomorrow night and I expect you to be there with me. There will be several people from work coming to listen and that makes me nervous but if I know you are with me, I'll be okay.

Seems strange to be singing in a band at this point in my life but I swore when you passed I would do everything that I wanted to do before I die. I guess it's my bucket list. I think the biggest accomplishment is that I have opened my heart to someone. It's been 13 years since I have been in a relationship. I know you always wished that for me but I never met anyone that I connected with since Ron died. Now I have and it has been a year. Of course, after losing two people that I love so very much, the thought of going through that type of pain again puts fear in my heart. I guess what I have learned is as long as you protect yourself from pain, you also miss out on joy...both giving and receiving.

Wish me luck, baby. I want to do the songs justice tomorrow night.

I love you to the moon and back,
Momma

I asked my webmistress, Patty Foltz, at Way2KoolDesigns, to create the design on my profile. I wanted it to be a memorial to my dear son who crossed over on January 31, 2007. It was created several months ago to serve as a grief journal for me, but I haven't been able to write. Every time I would see the blinking cursor, an overwhelming sadness would sweep over me and I would just close the application and do something else.

Yesterday, while I was at work, I began to remember things he said to me over the years. It could be that he really does communicate with me, at least I believe he does. I thought it might be nice to write him a letter. After all, the holidays are here. The first ones without him. And it's difficult.

Dear Joel (Joelie Woo),

I miss e-mailing you. Your address is still on my e-list. I just like to see it there. I miss talking to you. Your number is still in my cell phone too. Sometimes I scroll down and select it, knowing that someone else would answer if I called. I just stare at it, wondering what I would say to you if you really did answer.

Yesterday at work, I thought of something you said to me when you were five-years-old. I had become overly involved in a religious organization at the time. I guess you had grown tired of me talking about God to my new-found friends.

When we were walking out of the supermarket one day, you said, "Guess what I just did?"

"What?" I asked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"I just stuck my tongue out at God."

I thought I'd split my sides laughing. I remember that I told you that God had broad shoulders and I was sure his feelings weren't hurt. In fact, he was probably laughing too.

I'm glad I said that to you.

That was about the time that I started working at the post office. Holidays were hard and the days were long. Sometimes I didn't get home until after dark.

One evening, when I picked you up from the babysitter, you said, "Momma, if you keep working late, we're gonna have to get a crack pot to make dinner for us."

I love that you made me laugh. We went straight over to K-Mart and bought a crack pot. heh. You used to love the turkey stew that I made. Remember? With mashed potatoes and stove top stuffing.

Sometimes we had wonderful conversations in the car. We had plenty of time to talk since half our drive time was due to me getting lost.

You asked me one day, "Momma, was the world in black and white when you were a kid?"

"No." I laughed. "Why would you think that?"

You had a thoughtful look on your face when you said, "Well, you always watch those old movies and they're in black and white."

What a smarty pants you were. Insightful too.

I was mad at your father one day, and you didn't miss a beat in telling me my part of the situation.

You said, "You know what your problem is?"

Of course, I was aching to know what my seven-year-old offspring knew about relationships.

"What's my problem?"

"You spoil people...then you try to unspoil them."

I was speechless at the accuracy of your perception. You were absolutely right! And you taught me a valuable lesson.

Then you said something so outrageous, I just couldn't stay angry.

You said, "You know, when you get mad, your face gets red and your nostrils wiggle."


We used to go to Bob's Big Boy a lot, before they closed them. You loved to get a combo or spaghetti. But, we always split a hot fudge cake for desert. One time, when the waitress asked you what you wanted to drink, you said,

"I'll have a scoop of vanilla ice cream marinated in root beer, please."

She was very impressed with your style. So was I.

"I can't eat brussel sprouts, Mom. Did you know they're really Martian balls? And I don't like frozen peas. They look like little men sat on them."

You really formed an opinion about food fast. But I didn't make you eat what you didn't like and lo and behold, when you grew up, you liked just about everything.

One of the