Originally posted by this author to https://eusocrimsonthread.wixsite.com/crimson 

Mom,

        I thought I knew loss. I thought my divorces had made me tough. I really thought losing you would have prepared me for anything. I thought having to call 911 when we found you would have made me immune to anything. I thought having to raise my little brother and sister and caring for my elderly father when you left would have prepared me for anything. I was wrong. I thought enough time had passed. It’s been years now. Then 2020 happened, a year where I really needed a mother to turn to. My husband was amazing through everything, and frankly, still in the thick of it, is my rock. But there are times, no matter the wonderful people in your life, you just want your Mom. I thought I was on the easy side of mourning you. I was wrong.
        March 30, 2020. That’s when everything changed. That the last day before I had to wear a N95 every hour of the day of every one of my shifts. The biggest problem was my asthma and heart condition where my heart rate skyrocketed with the smallest of challenges. In nearly 15 years of nursing, I never knew this was an issue. In years past, if we had a patient that required we wear a N95, tuberculosis for example, we put the mask on, went in and cared for them, came out and threw it away. Not now. Now, 21 days. That is how long my mask had last. 21 days. They wanted to send me to the ICU, but they could not accommodate the breathing breaks I needed from the mask. I desperately wanted to go and help. I wanted to do my part. I felt like a draft dodger. I longed to sit with you and lament the situation, but you were not there.

        Instead, I was sent to assist with symptom tracking. They needed nurses to check on COVID patients that had contracted the disease. I called them daily and checked on their symptoms. Many traversed the rocky waters of COVID well enough. Others, however, did not. Many of those calls haunt me. It is likely I may have been the last person to hear some of their voices. That sits heavy in a heart. You would have known what to say to comfort me. I’ve lost patients before. I’ve witnessed tragic situations. This was different. There were mobile morgues.

        It was so hard to keep Dad home and safe. He is 81 now. His main social interaction, after you left, was going out to eat. He ended up lonely at home, staring at all the things that reminded him of you. We tried everything to keep him home. We would deliver meals and groceries. We got him an iPhone so he could FaceTime family. It helped a bit. Then his brother got COVID. My uncle. He died a few days after being admitted. I hated that you were not here. He needed you. I was angry, and I could not tell you any of this. You were not here while I was agonizing over how to get groceries for him when everyone was hoarding supplies. You were not here while I was spending hours in the car going from store to store trying to find distilled water for his sleep apnea machine and could not find any because all the stores were out. You were not here when my husband’s family lost their own family members to COVID. You would have comforted him. You would have loved him so much, and I hate that you never met him.
        I wanted to tell you all of this. I was mourning you all over again. All of these challenges stockpiled into one year, and all I wanted was to talk to you and I couldn’t. I thought I was on the easy side of mourning you. Turns out, you never really stop mourning someone. There are just times you miss them more than others.
        We have moved in with Dad to take better care of him. He is less lonely now. We are all vaccinated now, so the world is just a little less scary. My husband and I are going to school full time because, apparently, pandemic is not hard enough and we are gluttons for punishment. Dad will not say it, but I know he likes our dogs. You would have loved them. You would have loved my husband for how he loves my dad and takes care of him. You would have loved my husband for how he loves me. I think you would like the person I turned into. I think we would be better friends now than when I was in my twenties. I wish you could have known me now. I think you would be proud. I think you would be happy.
        I miss you more than ever. I wish I had done more for you. I wish I had more closure, and I do not wish this hurt on anyone. Of all the unimaginable hardships that we faced in 2020, and continue to face, mourning you all over again was the hardest. I needed an adult, and when I looked for one, you were not there.