how do you say good bye to your daughter

How do you say good bye to your daughter? How do you leave the chubby baby who used to smile and say “happy, happy, happy”. The little girl who loved to pretend she was “Fashion, the Famous Model”, or “Snowball the White Persian cat”. The child who, when told by her teacher she had her shoes on the wrong feet immediately crossed her ankles to make them right.

How do you say good bye to sweet, bright girl who loved to make people smile. A little girl with a big heart.  That tomboy who loved trucks and dinosaurs more than dolls.

The artist, the writer, the teen who never followed the others, but was always herself. Who bucked the system to take auto shop in high school. Who won the high school talent show singing “Mercedes Benz”.  

The young woman who cut her own hair, pierced her own ears, loved her tattoos.  Who loved taking her dog for long walks in the cemetery on her days off, and tuck flowers in his collar to bring home. Who knew how to make you smile—whether it was a silly story of something that happened at work, or texted me a pic of baby ducks, or her cat with his head stuck in a container. Who was so proud and happy when she became an aunt.

The grown woman who became your closest confidante. The one you could go to when you were hurting, or your heart was broken and who always seemed to know what to say, even if she didn’t have the answers.  God, I wish I had her here now. This is my biggest heartbreak ever.

Leslie often told me she didn’t have any friends. The last days of her life, I was so touched by the number of people who came to see her. To talk to her, tell her they loved her. Who told me stories of how Leslie touched their lives.  Of her quirkiness, her off beat sense of humor. Her giving, loving nature. Of how she was one of the very special people in this world.

That was one of the tragedies of Leslie. She never knew how much she was loved by so many.

One day, after Leslie’s death I commented to a friend how many thunderstorms we’d had lately. And my friend replied “You do realize that’s Leslie’s way of saying “Hey Mama!”? “

Yes, I will remember Leslie with every thunderstorm the rest of my life. Every time I walk Sawyer. Every time I find something quirky in a thrift store.  Every time I watch bats fly at dusk or find “The Golden Girls” on tv. Every time I look at a full moon, or see a vintage VW Beetle. There will be a million things. Every day.

Being Leslie’s mama was a sometimes trying experience. I know she often thought she let me down. But no. I loved her huge heart, and her courage. Her kindness. How she could make me laugh and know just what to say when my heart hurt. I am so very proud of the woman she became. The one-of-a-kind person she was. I’ve heard the word “unique” bantered around a lot—I can’t think of anyone who it fits better. She was an original. And in so many ways, far exceeded my expectations.

How do you say good bye to your daughter? You don’t. You never do. You keep her in your mind, your memory, your heart and your soul—always.

I love you Leslie. Ever so much.

Mama