Yesterday I became overwhelmed with love and pride for my daughter Ashley. As a result of my flurry of warm and fuzzy emotions, I thought I would take the opportunity to write her a note.  This is her first year away from home and I haven’t written her any mushy, gushy letters because I wanted her to believe I was surviving just fine without my best friend and partner in crime.  Truth be told, she is flourishing and at times I am the one that is floundering trying to adjust to how my life works without her in it every day.

However, after a very scary moment over the weekend when I thought she might be moving to Florida for a semester it became too much for me. I sat down and poured my heart out to her about how proud I am of her and how I can’t wait to watch the rest of her life unfold and to hold my grandchildren one day. Okay, maybe there was a little PMS involved in the writing of this note but it was very sincere.

I hit the send button and a few minutes later my phone rang.

Hello?

OMG Mom , do you have cancer?

Cancer? no why would you ask me that?

Because I just got your note and it sounded all “I don’t have long to live” and stuff.

No, baby I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you and I was missing you so I thought I would write you a note.

O.K., but are you sure you aren’t terminally ill?

Yes, I am quite sure darling.

O.K. then I gotta go I’ll call you later, CLICK.

That was it.  If I didn’t have cancer , she was too busy to talk.

That is why I write mushy notes. It is because at one time in her life she was never busy with anything that didn’t in some way allow me to be involved.  If she was in a play , I was working on costumes.  If she was attending prom , I was hosting the before and after party. When there was drama with friends, I got to hear about it during one of our late talks after she returned home from a night out. I never had to wonder if she was o.k., I just had to walk down the hall and check for myself.

So in a small way I guess a part of me is terminal.  The full time, in your face, know every detail of your life mom part of me is dying a slow death.  But for as long as I have breath in my body, my role as her best friend and biggest fan will live on.