A New Year – 10 Months
Dear Abbey,
I can’t believe it, you have been gone 10 months today. It seems so unreal. A new year began yesterday, bringing to an end an horrific year for us as a family. Christmas was so excruciatingly difficult without you. I found myself running out of stores because I couldn’t bear to look at all of the things that I just knew you would have loved to receive for Christmas this year. As painful as that was, wrapping gifts and stuffing stockings was…I have no words. I thought I might die from the pain in my chest. I cried so long and so hard that ultimately, I ended up stuffing your stocking with Antonio’s things. I was resolute to get it all out, because your brother and sister had both asked so many times if I could be happy on Christmas Day. It was hard Abigail…very very hard.
Daddy and I talked a lot about all of the Christmases that we had with you for the past 13 years and that in a lot of ways helped us to make you a part of our celebration. We took a cute purple Christmas tree to your resting place and many of your friends and our loved ones took to you the most beautiful ornaments to hang on your tree. I also received a lovely letter from your friend Tre, who continues to be inspired by you.
This Christmas I bought myself a gift, I had your book printed and bound so that I could begin editing it. I’ve mostly looked at it and cried. I have started reading it….and I am so amazed at the brilliance that you had at your young age. You are more of a writer than I could have ever hoped to be. Oh what you could have done with your beautiful mind. That loss of your future in tandem with the big hole that is prevalent every single day are the hardest things. I listen quietly so that I can hear your words and I can still conjure the sound of your voice perfectly. I hope I can take that with me to my own end Abigail.
I made a very important decision yesterday….I promised myself that I would accept that you are not coming home. All these pretenses that I have set up around me both mentally and physically are destroying me. With this new year…I’m not going to pretend that I will wake up and find you in your room anymore. I know this is easier said than done…it has become a pretty significant part of who I am. I hope you will help me…I think it might bring both of us some peace. I love you…always.
*hugs*
i can’t say more than that through the tears. You guys have been through so much.
{hug}
Dear Catina,
Thank you for sharing this letter to your daughter with us, your readers. As I have been these entire 10 months since Abbey’s death, I am very touched by your and her story, and your writing speaks to me within a very deep part of myself, and it means a lot that you continue to open up in this way. It helps me, as a person who struggles with depression, it helps me as a mom who is separated from her children (granted, in part by my own choice and yet there were, for me, personal and extenuating circumstances outside of my control, too), it helps me as a human being, and I feel it is a real gift that you write about and to Abbey.
Most of all, I appreciate the brutal honesty with which you share this difficult journey.
I’m proud of you, too, for your decision to begin to accept Abbey is not coming home. That’s not an easy decision to make. I hope Abbey *will* help you to do that. I hope that things will come into your life that will help you find that peace with her not coming home.
Most of all, thank you, thank you, thank you, for being so unflinching about the sharing of yourself these past ten months. It was something I always loved about your writing before, but it, of course, has taken on added meaning and depth since this past March.
This part is to Abbey:
Abbey, your mom is so special. I can imagine with a mom like yours, you were a very special girl, too. I never got to meet you, but it sounds like from what your mom writes that I would have loved to have known you. I am glad that she is working on editing your book. That is something I would like to read someday.
I hope wherever you are now that you have the peace that you were seeking. Now I am hoping for peace for your mom, too. Please help her to find it.
Much love to you, Javacat.
Karin
Your writing is so beautiful and touching. It brings me to tears. As always, I send my love and support to you and your family.
Oh Catina.
This was heartbreakingly beautiful. As is everything Abbey-inspired that you write.
At the very least, this is the last “first Christmas without her” that you have to endure. And I know you are stronger than any of the rest of the anniversaries horribilis that you have to face yet.
Did the kiddos have a good Christmas? Did they find a miracle– even of the miniscule variety?
Much love girl.
You are so beautiful, Java, and I am so touched by your celebration, especially your gift. Sending all my best to you and your family, love.
I join my tears with the others who have posted here, Catina. Hugs and love to you. Thank you for sharing this.
Catina, I am holding back my tears as I read this letter, and somehow trying to offer you hope that tomorrow will be better. Sending love and peace to you, always.
Catina,
Estoy muy triste por la perdida de Abbey, ella es muy especial para mi y me duele en el alma saber que ya no esta aqui con nosotros. Tus ensayos me han hecho llorar mas y comparto tu dolor. El lunes empeze una novena a San Judas Tadeo pidiendo por Abbey y rezo el Rosario para que DIOS la tenga en su GLORIA. Tengo muchas fotos de ella de cuando estaba en 3rd grado y aqui en mi escritorio puse una foto que ella me mando por correo, ella esta en una barra de gimnasia con su leotardo de colores.
Este es mi email: ruizmonte@yahoo.com Escribeme algun dia que puedas.
PD: Me encantaria tener una copia de su libro.
Que DIOS los bendiga siempre.
Jessica Montemayor