Late-Night Baking

I'm up in the middle of the night baking cakes for a party, and I've been thinking of you the whole time. I remember you, Keisha and I would stay up to make the cakes and pies for Thanksgiving and Christmas. At first you led, and as years went by you'd supervise, and eventually you let us take over. You'd tell us that we had perfected your recipes. Thinking about it now, I realize you were telling us you were proud of us...

Thank you for giving us this gift. For the recipes. For the memories. For the chance to pass something wonderful down to our children. Thank you.

P.S. I referred to you in the present-tense tonight. When Tony asked why I don't use a hand mixer to blend the batter, I replied, "because Dotyn says not to".

You are with me every day.

Spontaneous Tears

Dear Dotyn,

I'm sorry its been a while since I've written. I still think about you every day. There are so many things that cause my thoughts to wander towards you.

Sometimes I'm not thinking about anything in particular, but I start to cry anyway. All it takes is to feel the breeze in a certain way, or to hear a certain sound. Random smells and tastes can do it too.

The other day, I was near the end of a run when it happened. Or, more specifically, *you* happened... My iPod shuffled to a song I know you've never heard before. The lyrics and melody didn't particularly remind me of you either. But there I was, running on the street, suddenly in tears.

At the time, I was quite happy. I was exhausted, but thrilled about my run. And the song was uplifting and motivating me to finish strong.

...And then grief.

Since you passed, I've had more moments of happiness mixed with sadness -- and seemingly spontaneous tears -- than ever before in my life.

Maybe its because I'd grown used to sharing my moments of joy with you. And now I can't in the same way that I used to.

Or maybe it's because, when it comes to happiness and sadness, one cannot exist without the other.

Maybe you are my first real reminder of that.

More on your phone number...

737-8222... Keisha is right. I can't recall a phone number more meaningful.

It was your phone number for longer than I can remember. And as long as I live, I doubt I'll ever forget it. As a matter of fact, I've used it as a password for my office phone for years. Did I ever tell you that?

I recently had a dream that I dialed your number and you answered. We talked for a while. I told you that I missed you, but that I was glad we could communicate this way. I asked you if you were happy, and you said "yes".

Just like you, your number is impossible to forget. Probably because it was as reliable as you were. For the better part of 30 years, if that number rang, you answered -- night or day, for emergencies, or just to talk. My dream confirms just how much I wish that were true now.

Chances are, someone else has your number now. I'm sure they have no idea just how many people are longing to dial it.

Emergency contact

Today I had a follow up doctors appointment for my knee. I guess the clerk who checked me in wanted to make sure all my information was up to date. She started asking all the normal questions, address, phone, insurance info, and then she asked for my emergency contact.....  For half a second I started to say Dorothy Williams (773)-737-8222.  As I was telling her my new emergency contact, I thought about the fact that I'd used you as my contact for 25+ yrs. You were always home and always answered the phone.

Beautiful

Over 10yrs ago you switched perfumes, and every Sunday before church I knew you were just about ready to go because I'd smell the faint fragrance of your Estee Lauder Beautiful. And every Christmas when I'd ask you what you wanted your gift to be, you'd look over on your nightstand and say "well, I'm almost out of beautiful". On July 19, I found myself in Macy's, at the Estee Lauder counter with the tester bottle of beautiful in hand. With one smell, you where there too.

Jack Remembers...

This morning, Jack -- who usually sleeps through the night -- woke up at 2:30 AM and cried for 5 minutes.

It was at 2:30, one year ago today, that I got the first call that you died.

Jack was only 10 days old.

While nursing him that morning, I wept over his head.

He is too young to know what he remembers, but I do.

A year ago this week...

This week last year, I began a countdown to Jack's arrival. You began a countdown too... only we didn't know it.

After a 2month stay in the ICU, surgeries, interventions and a trach, the hospital released you into the care of a nursing home. To recover. But you never did.

And almost one year later, I still miss you so much.

It hurts. But I believe you stayed just long enough to make sure Jack made it here safely. And then you let go.

You were always selfless like that. Thank you. For everything.

Maybe just try not to sneak up on me...

Dotyn,

Ever since you passed, I've been a lot more... let's call it "aware"... whenever I find myself alone in the dark. The feeling was much stronger in the weeks following your death, but now even though I'm in a more rational place, it hasn't fully gone away.

I wonder constantly, if I were to see your apparition, would I be happy or afraid? Maybe just surprised.

You're so deeply imbedded in my heart, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that I feel you with me  everywhere I go, though...

Just one request if you decide you want to stop by and say hi: any time is welcome, but daylight visiting hours are preferred.

I baked you a cake

Dotyn,

It took me a little longer than I planned, but here it is. I got a little choked up mixing the batter.

I was scraping the side of the bowl, and suddenly remembered how, when we Keisha and I were younger, you would take over mixing when the batter got too heavy for us.

I made it with love. This recipe is a priceless gift from you. I hope it makes you proud.

Coming for a visit.

Dotyn,
As I type this, I'm on my way to visit your body. It's strange for me to think about, because I know you - the person I love and miss - are not there.

So why do people visit graves? I guess I'm going because its the only place I can think of to go. It is Mother's Day weekend, after all. Maybe I'm hoping that a glimmer of your spirit remains with your body. Waiting to console and reassure anyone who comes to visit. Well here I come.

Happy Birthday

Dear Dotyn,

Today would have been your 79th birthday. I guess that makes it your first birthday in heaven...

I've been thinking about you more than usual, and I've decided to bake you a cake. A caramel cake. Your cake - your mother's recipe - it is my tribute to you. I hope, wherever you are, you like it.

Happy birthday, Dotyn. I love you.

May 9th

It's the middle of the night and I'm listening to a thunderstorm thinking of you. You always told us to stay off the phone during storms. I wonder if blogging from a cell phone counts.

Two days from now will mark your birthday, as well as Jack's tenth month. I didn't expect to cry, but here I am typing through tears.

Ain't Nora

We buried Ain't Nora this past Saturday. She's probably sitting next to you right now. :) When she spoke at your funeral, I could hear the pain in her voice. It cut deep. I know she is happy now.

I remember how close you were with her and Ain't Betty. Every morning you'd talk to both of them on 3-way. It was how you began your day. (Keisha and I are just like the three of you in that way -- we talk every morning too. We learned from the best.)

When I heard that Ain't Nora had passed, I couldn't help imagining that she heard a phone ringing, and when she answered, you were on the line welcoming her home. I have a feeling she had been waiting for your call.

Easter Hats

Dotyn,
I haven't seen Easter hats in a store window since I was little... This reminded me of you so much. You wore your hats whenever you left the house. And you ALWAYS rocked them. Straight up, cocked to one side, large or small... Wow, I really miss you, Dotyn. I hope you're somewhere beautiful.

Thinking of you today. Happy Easter. I love you.

I only think of you on two occasions...

Dotyn,

The other night I had a dream about you. You were dressed in a beautiful black suit with a black hat, and your skin was smooth and healthy. You were practically glowing.

When you spoke, your voice was clear and strong. You said, "Erica, you're being selfish."

Even in death you're keeping me in line! That's so you. Never a bad time to set someone straight.

I'm lucky to have you watching over me. Day and night.

I love you!

Dotyn, you would love Jack. He's such a happy, sweet baby. And smart too! At seven months, he's already starting to feed himself and trying to walk on his own. I'm always telling him I love him. Sometimes I even say it the way you used to say it to me. Do you remember? "I looooooooooove YOU!" I can still hear your voice saying it. I loved you so much even then. And I knew you loved me. I never for a moment in my life doubted it. I still love you. And now for every hug and kiss I can no longer give to you, I give them to Jack. I'm passing your love along to him.

Still Grieving

Dotyn,

I'm not sure what I expected to feel by now... But somehow I'm not surprised. I think about you every day. It's always been that way, even before you passed. Sometimes it feels good to remember how you molded my life. How you inspired me and taught me about love and faith. How you would sing... How you would laugh...

And sometimes it weighs on my heart. In those moments all I want is to have your arms around me. Protecting me like you've always done. And I have a feeling that you still are... But sometimes it's not enough. I know my grief is selfish. You were in pain, you were tired, and you were ready to rest. Maybe one day I'll be ready to let go. Not let go to forget you. But let go to free myself of the pain of losing you. And when that happens, all I'll be left with is the joy of having known and loved you all my life.

It's Ironic...

I realized today the irony of writing to you through a blog. I don't think you ever used a computer in your life. I don't even know if you knew how to type. It's not something I thought to ask while you were still here. Just one of many questions I wish you were still around to answer, though...

Technology aside, your handwriting was always so neat and pretty... It seems writing by hand is becoming a dying art. Take this blog as example #1! I'll have to teach Jack the importance of penmanship one day. And when I do, I'm going to use your writing as an example of how to do it right.

Thank goodness for the little pieces of you left behind for me to pass on. No irony there. Just gratitude.

Happy New Year

Dotyn,

"I haven't talked to you since last year." If you were still here I would have called and said that to you today. It was our little joke.

Reality is that it's been almost 7 months since we last spoke. And even then you couldn't say much. I had come to visit you in the hospital before they put your trache in. I told you "I love you", and in a weak, hoarse voice you said it back. I knew you were in pain and I feared you were dying. I wanted to tell you that you didn't need to hold on for us. That we'd be ok. But I was afraid...

So, today begins a real year without you... I haven't talked to you since last year... And already it feels like it's been forever.