Dear Elli,
This is my third letter to you this year. I'm serious. I wrote 25 letters in 2016, and 3 in 2017. I've done a really shitty job of documenting life this year, and I apologize.
It's been an insane year full of dramatic ups and downs and quite frankly, I'm really glad it's over. I'm not a big fan of excuses, but I think it's only fair to attempt an explanation for not writing much of anything this year. So here it goes:
The first five months of the year were miserable. Like, really freaking miserable. I loved my job for so many years, until I didn't anymore. I knew I was going to leave, and I hated myself for it. On multiple occassions, I considered faking my own death and moving to Mexico so I wouldn't have to look so many friends and coworkers of 13 years in the eyes and tell them I was resigning.
I decided against faking my death and moving to Mexico, so I resigned the Monday morning after Memorial Day instead, and it was every bit as awful as I had imagined. I then spent the next three weeks before starting my new job alternating between eating copious amounts of ice cream and crying in the shower. I gained ten pounds and I couldn't pull my brand new pantsuit over my ass on my first day of work at my new company. I'm not shitting you.
So I started my new job in June, and I was really afraid. I landed a really great position with a really great company with a little (more like a lot of) help from a few old friends. People stuck their necks out for me, and I was terrified to let them down. You see, as confident as I seem most days on the outside, I have this inner voice that sometimes likes to tell me I'm a total fraud. That I don't actually have what it takes to be successful, and I've just done a really good job of fooling everyone all these years. That inner voice is a little bitch.
I responded to that little bitch by working as hard as I possibly could from the moment I started. Because hard work is the only thing that makes that voice shut the hell up. And because hard work trumps talent and every other quality in the freaking world every single time. (Remember that. It's important.) So I worked. And it worked. And I slowly became my smiling, happy-go-lucky, super duper fun old self again.
I actually had time to coach you in soccer for the first time this fall, and you made me proud with your hard work and determination both on and off the field. Your grades are strong, you joined Girl Scouts, and you've made so many friends this year! You knocked it out of the park all year long, kid!
I finally lost most of that ten pounds, and my pantsuit fit over my ass again. I even ran my first 15K, mostly because that inner little bitch tried to say I couldn't.
So the world was right again in 2017. Until December 12th.
We were celebrating a family night out to see a Cirque Christmas show together. It was super cool, and we were all loving it. Acrobats flying through the air, dancing, singing, people balancing things on their heads. All the good stuff that comes along with Cirque.
Then my phone rang during intermission. It was Grandpa Gordon. He had just found Grandma Tina. She passed away in her sleep at home.
The last few weeks have been a blur. Grandma Tina was only 57. None of us were ready for this. It's heartbreaking. Grandpa Gordon is the strongest man I know, but this isn't something he should be forced to bear. And neither should my stepsisters. Life is not fair, though, and they will bear this burden like all of the burdens that came before. And we will do our very best to help shoulder as much as they will allow.
Christmas was good. Truly, it was. We were all together as one giant family for the first time in a really long time. Old grudges were buried and everyone came together. I'm proud of our family. We are so fortunate to have one another.
And here we are, at the end of the year. I won't fool myself into thinking 2018 will be all easy. It probably won't be. But very few worthwhile things in life are easy. (Remember that, too. It's important.)
I look forward to another year of work and play and laughs and tears and joy and sadness. More than anything, I look forward to another year of being your mom.
I love you.
Mom
PS: I will try to write more next year.
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