Mom, I have been reading about life and death. I know that we are supposed to be much more that our bodies, that death means to leave the body and cross to that place, where we see our true selves and are able to understand things much more clearly than we could here on Earth.

 So, I know that you are there, somewhere. But I can't reach you. I can't feel you. I don't know if you hear me when I call you. I'm still in this world and I don't understand. At some point I'll join you, and even if those years are nothing in the face of eternity, they still look like a long, lonely road.

 I'm trying to have faith and believe. But it's so hard, the pain is here and how much would I like to go back in time and see you once again. I know you'd tell me to stop being so dramatic and make an effort to live. I'd like to hear it from you, though, even if it's irrational to think this way.

 We were always together and I wasn't ready for you to go away. I long so much for the life we used to have. I also don't know how to deal with the fact that you suffered so much the days before you died, and nobody realized.