I remember your "firsts".

Now, I remember your "lasts".

Deady Bears, found at Matt's Grateful Dead Page

Written by Connie Small, December 12 2000

Even with three daughters before you, I was still so excited when I saw your "firsts". I remember your first smile and exactly what I was feeling and saying to you at the time. And so the year continued, with rolling over, sitting up, first word (mom!), first steps, etc.

Time passed by so quickly. Your first day of school. Your first boyfriend. Your first pet. Your first broken heart. Your first best friend. Your first job. One day, I turned around and you were in your first apartment. You had, as you put it, your first "real" job. With your pay, you bought your first car. It wasn't much to look at, but you were so proud of it, it might have been the car of your dreams. I was so proud of you. My baby, the first year on her own.

Misty and her sons, Cameron and Cody

Those "first" have ended now. Instead, I remember the lasts. Some things, I can't remember now. But I remember the "lasts" with amazing clarity. Your last address. You lived with your sister, Misty. Your "twin". Your best friend. You never fought. It seemed strange that you two agreed on just about everything. You were always loyal to each other. And fiercely protective of the other. You could finish each other's sentences. You knew each other's thoughts. When you died, Misty said she had lost her 'twin'. That a part of her died with you. It's fitting that your last address was with her.

Your last birthday gift, I gave you cash. And a ride to the store to spend it. As usual, you bought for others. For yourself, you bought groceries. But, since you lived with your sister and nephew, the groceries were for you all.

For my last birthday gift from you, Jennifer took you to Walmart. She later told me you walked all over Walmart for two hours, trying to find something you knew I'd like, that I wasn't allergic to. You had learned with me six months before, that I had terrible allergies. You finally settled for a bouquet of fresh flowers and a cute card. The flowers were beautiful, but what I remember most, is that you spent that two hours finding the right gift.

Your last Christmas gift from me was a Jerry Garcia doll. I remember the look on your face when you opened the box. You loved it and I was so pleased that I was able to surprise you. I gave you some Deady Bears, which you hung on your bedroom wall. I always told you, you were born twenty years too late. You were my little hippie. You loved tie-dye, bell-bottoms, The Grateful Dead and the Beatles. You made necklaces out of hemp and beads. I wear one now, that I found and put on the day after you died. I haven't take it off since. I never will.

My last Christmas gift from you is an Angel wind chime. You were concerned that I might not like it. I was so touched that you would pick out something I would never have expected to receive from you. I look at it now and, I believe you knew it was the last Christmas gift you would ever give me.

The last time I saw you, was six days before you died. You called from work and asked if I was ready to pick you up. No matter that I hadn't known until then that you needed a ride. I was thrilled to spend time with you. When I picked you up, you said you were hungry. I wasn't surprised. You were always hungry. It never ceased to amaze me how tiny you were, 5' 2" and 95 pounds, when you ate so much. We went to Fazzolli's drive-through. You ordered the spaghetti and fettuccine Alfredo. And of course, cheese cake with strawberry topping. You ordered the lemon ice with strawberry, for your drink. Funny, I don't remember what I ordered. We came back to my apartment to eat. We talked for a while, then you laid on the couch and went to sleep.

You told me to wake you at 7:00 or 7:30. I loved having you here, even though you were asleep. You could have been in the other room and it wouldn't have mattered. It was enough just to have you here. At 7:00 I gently stroked your hair and told you what time it was. I asked if you wanted me to wait until 7:30. You said yes, as I knew you would. You loved to sleep. You always had. I found out later why.

When 7:30 came, I knelt beside the couch and looked at your sleeping face. I again, stroked your hair, giving you my "mother's touch", as I told you what time it was. You sat up, trying to shake off the sleep. We talked some more and then it was time to take you home. I pulled into the driveway to let you out. Somehow, I knew, this was the last time I was going to see you. I felt the fear deep in my heart. I didn't want to scare you. I didn't want to scare myself. So, I didn't mention it. Again, I think you must have known. We hugged tighter than usual. I brushed back your hair and kissed your soft cheek. I told you, "I love you." You told me you loved me. I told you, "I really do love you, you know." You smiled and said, "I know. And I really love you." That was my last hug, my last kiss. My last I love you.

One week later, I told you my last good-bye.

How I miss you, Cassy. I love you so much. Forever and ever, plus one more day.
Mom