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It wasn't me, mom!

I'd give anything to hear those words

Written by Connie Small, November 14, 2000

They say you're gone. I'll not see you again in this world. They say the dental records were a positive I.D. I went to the service. I cried. I have an Urn with your ashes, that I rock and sing to each night. I've seen signs that you’re in Heaven and letting me know that you’re happy and with your baby now. I read the obituary; I read the story about the accident. I saw a picture of the car. I've talked to people who assured me you never suffered. I've received sympathy cards. I've gotten condolence calls. I've been hugged and told "I'm so sorry." My heart hurts more than I thought was humanly possible and still keep beating.

So why do I want to go outside and call your name? Why do I want to get in the car and drive and drive and drive until I finally find you? When I answer the phone, I expect to hear your voice on the other end, "I love you, mom." I think you’re going to walk through the door any minute now and say, "It wasn't me, mom. I've been away and couldn't let you know I had to leave. I just got back and found out what happened. I wanted to let you know, it wasn't me, mom. It wasn't me."

Please, Cassy, walk through my door and tell me it wasn’t you! I love you with all my heart!
Mom