Dear Big Mama,

I am not saying goodbye to the love we share and not to our memories, but rather to the blame and anger it created holding on to you. I remember standing at the family viewing and just staring at you. You looked so beautiful. I took so many pictures of you. I touched your face and rubbed your hands. I wanted so badly for you to be still warm and open your eyes and say "boo!" like you frequently did when we thought you were sleeping.

You were cold, just like my heart. I blamed myself for not being able to tell you I love you before you let go. I blame myself for not being spending more time with you when I was home. This self-blame hardened and grew into anger. I was angry that you were gone, but I knew you had suffered enough. I'm mad I was given a small keepsake of yours, but I'm happy it's a guardian angel. That's what you are to me now, my guardian angel.

Saying goodbye makes me feel like I lost a part of me even though I know your spirit and love live inside me. I know that you visit me and speak to me, but I've been so busy being angry that I hardly noticed you. I want to feel your warmth more. Kiss your cheek, feed you, hear you laugh, listen to you say "Kenana" one last time. I want to say goodbye, but I don't want the memories to fade. Please keep sending me signs. Let me know that you're with me always. On the day before the first anniversary of your passing, you showed up in a Snapchat filter. It was so surreal, and I broke down crying. You knew I needed you then. You knew I was trying to be so strong for everyone else, but I was rapidly dying inside. There you were. Your face on mine. It's incredible how much I looked exactly like you. Thank you for showing up when I needed you most.

I remember the first time I saved your life when you had a diabetic episode. I was eight years old. I didn't know what was going, but I knew that you needed help. I remember crashing at your house a couple of nights when I was homeless and hearing you mumble in your sleep. I called your name, and you didn't respond. I got up to check on you, and you had kicked all the covers off of you, and I couldn't wake you. You were sweating so badly. I called the paramedics again to save you. These moments I cherish and hold dear to me because the Universe chose me to be there at the right times to protect you. I felt like your protector, your superhero. I was always there when you needed me. This is why I blamed myself for not being there when you let go. You decided that you no longer needed me, and you were going to transition because you knew that I would need you in a way that only your soul could provide.

Every time I came home, I wrote the day I was there on your calendar so you could remember and not argue me down that I hadn't visited you. I always laugh when I think about the time you ripped the iron cord out the wall because, in your house, there was no ironing on Sunday. Lol. You got up so fast with your walker. I lowkey thought you were crazy for doing that, but that was just you. You had your way of doing things, and no one was going to change it.

My fondest memory was walking into your room, and you were asking me every time about the book I had written. You insisted that I had written a book. I don't know why you always said that, but I thank you. Thank you for always reminding me of my passion, who I am, and what I would do before I did. I'm writing again, and it feels so liberating. Thank you.

You taught me that it was okay to be whoever I wanted to be. You never judged me and my quirks. I never felt like the oddball or black sheep with you. You accepted me as I showed up. You taught me to stand firm in my words and what I believed. Be authentic in myself and my word. I sincerely appreciate that. It has opened and closed some doors but has always given me what was destined for me.

Something I want you to know is that I think you are an amazing woman. You raised seven women, all with unique and very different personalities by yourself. You were the glue that held the family together, our bond. Even during your health battles, you never gave up and remained a firecracker. It is that strength that encourages me to let go and live. Fulfill my purpose no matter what pain or sorrow may come my way. I have the ultimate choice of how I show up.

I will always remember your silly, but no-nonsense energy. Even in pain, you still managed to laugh at life and smile with happiness in your heart. You never let the pain keep you down, and I promise not to let it happen again.

I love you, Big Mama.