Day One

Learning to be funny… The title of this blog was something I came up with quickly when WordPress posed me with the question, “Blog title?”. I wanted my writing to make people laugh, but I was afraid I was going to fail, so I wanted to convey that I had my training wheels on. My mother is the one who helped me start to grow past that feeling.

What does one say on the day they lose their mother? I didn’t know who to call or what to say. The outpouring of love from everyone helps immensely but in the early morning hours the light and energy felt right for me to sit with what I’m feeling. I knew to write something, anything because that’s what she would have wanted. Her constant belief in me and this blog was what made me confident enough to even attempt being funny. My mother wasn’t one to dole out compliments where they hadn’t been earned but with this she kept pushing and telling me, “it’s really good and you are robbing the world to not write in it more”. Coming from her, that meant something very real to me.

When I wrote a post I would call her and she was the first to read each one. She would always call me back with her notes and some of my better posts came out of her tutelage. I am sad to not be working towards my constant goal of getting her to say, “this is the best one yet.”

In a world where I seek constant approval from everyone around me, she was the one person who was enough. A word from her, and only her, stopped me from letting anything else negative in. I trusted that she loved me and it helped me to love me.

As of now my homepage tells me that she has commented on this blog more times than anyone else. I am sad that the number next to her name will no longer grow with my writing. I am afraid of the moment when someone else takes that spot. I am terrified to stop writing because when I click to publish this I won’t have her to call.

It feels unreal and terrifying and heartbreaking all at once. She was my best friend. We spoke every day and I told her everything. I worry that I will never truly believe this is real, but in the moments where I am forced into seeing that it is, the permanence of it will overwhelm me.

I miss her today; it is the first of countless days that I cannot hear her voice. I will miss her everyday.

I cannot learn to be funny. I have been funny all along and I can say that now because she told me and I believe her.



11 thoughts on “Day One”

    1. my lovely lovely girl. I am 😦 that life holds these moments for each one of us.These moments of suddenly, instantly, everything is different… like losing the ground beneath your feet; but to be as young as yourself and experience it is tragic indeed…
      as I shared at my husbands memorial, they are just waiting for us at the next station, which we will inevitably stop at and see their smiling faces again- the joy shall be returned, but for now, in honor and love and respect, such grief. Such grief. XO to your beautiful heart.

  1. Dearest dear one, although my beloved dad has been gone over 4 years now, I have not experienced him as gone. He is very present to me, each and every day, in a thousand little things from peeling the bits of toilet paper off the roll so I can recycle the roll, to imagining his keen-eyed observations on the human comedy. I feel like he lives on, inside me, inside Ari. So I think you will find that, even though she is no longer physically with us, she lives on – inside you. You will hear what she would have to say in so many moments. When you listen to beautiful music, you wlll see her sitting beside you, the tears streaming down her face. When you write, you will hear her voice, encouraging you and laughing with you. I love you very much.

  2. Dear Samantha, I am so sorry for your loss. This blog post is a really touching tribute to your mother and your relationship. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I am sending loving thoughts your way.

  3. This is a wonderful and heartfelt message and it not only says something importantt but is also one of your best. I am there for you when you need me. Love Dad.

  4. What a gorgeous, loving, piece of writing. Sam, you have a beautiful soul; no doubt is it from your mother. I’m so sorry, my friend. I cannot imagine what you are going through. Sending peace and love to you. I’m always here if you need me.

  5. Pooper, I’m so very, very sorry to hear of your loss. While she is no longer with you in the physical sense, she is here in so many other ways… And now she is free from the pain that was getting in the way.
    You are a beautiful person with so many gifts. I’m proud to know such a funny, smart, talented woman who can express herself and share such tender moments so openly. You are amazing.

    But most importantly, you are enough.

    Name it … And I’ll be there.

    With thoughts of love and peace,

  6. Samantha, I am so sorry for your loss. You are a WONDERFUL funny woman and you are loved by many people. Your post was really beautiful and I’m sure your mom is very proud right now xo

  7. Sam,

    I am so very, very sorry to hear this news. I cannot begin to imagine the pain that you are feeling from this heavy loss.

    You are a beautiful person- inside and out- kind, funny, strong, graciously candid, beautifully intuitive, inspiring in so many ways- and I know your mom will be with you every single day, forever and ever…

    It’s during times like this I wish I had just half the talent that you have displayed in capturing such a raw, human moment so poignantly, so beautifully, so delicately. I am at a loss for words for you. Thank you for sharing this piece, Sam, and keep doing what you’re doing, girl…You have got this.

    Here for you in any and every way…


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