Dear 30-year-old Claire,

Who are you? I knew you at 18 – better than most. But now you would be 30 if you were still here. So much can change between 18 and 30. And yet the core of who we are often remains the same.

Would you live close by? Or would you have ventured off to another state? Country? I know your beloved cat Raja would be by your side wherever you were. You made it clear to me that you were taking her with you when you moved away from home.

Would you be seeing clients as an art therapist? You revealed that is why you wanted to go to art school after college. Both fitting and ironic. When I took you to see an art therapist during the midst of your cancer treatment, you sat for the entire session without saying a word and with the look on your face that we all knew… Arrows shooting at me from those beautiful eyes declaring, “Get me out of here. Why did you bring me here? I don’t trust her.”

Would we be sitting in the audience of your performances on stage? This is where you shone the most. The stage lit up with your presence, your beauty and your energy. Again, the juxtaposition of the shy, timid girl who was able to freely express herself when given the opportunity to do it through the life of another or through the harmony of music.

Would you have fallen in love? Would you have had your heart broken? Would you be with a partner? Would you have a husband? A wife? Would you have loved more than one?

Would you struggle daily with the lasting effects of chemo and radiation? Would you have relapsed more than once? Would you worry every time you were tired, or got a headache or a bruise? Would your ovaries have awoken or would you have been rendered infertile from all the toxins and forced early menopause? Would you have come back to full health? Or would we have lived in fear of every sniffle or fever? Not to mention covid.

I know you would have continued in your passion for justice. But how? Would you be raising awareness? Would you still do the AIDS walk every year? Would you have been arrested for protesting when George Floyd was murdered? Would you have gone to the Women’s March in DC in 2017? Would you be freaking out (as many of us are) as the Handmaid’s Tale seems to becoming more of a reality across our country? Would your anxiety serve as a motivator to do more or would it cause you to suffer more panic attacks and tears? Or both?

Would you still love children and animals? You would be a wonderful auntie to Winston who will never get to know you other than through pictures and stories.

Would you still like the Beatles? Harry Potter? Moustaches? Or were those just the musings of a teenaged girl? Would you have outgrown your interests? Or honed and revised them?

Would you still turn your nose up at the smell of wine? Or would your palette have developed an appreciation for some barrel aged whiskey? Or would that not be your thing? What about Kombucha? Tea? Coffee? Would you still like mashed potatoes?

Questions that will forever go unanswered. Does that make them meaningless? Or does it intensify their meaning?

I am older and changed as well. Would you still know me? The aging ball rolls much faster on this side of the hill. I imagine my grief has accelerated the process even more. However, I suppose parents always seem old to their children. I know mine did.

I have been known to say, “Death doesn’t end a relationship, it just changes it.” Some days I believe that and others I don’t. I like to think that you are with us each moment of every day, growing and changing alongside us. Your presence is both felt and missed at each family gathering.

I dream of you often. And in most dreams, your age is fluid. One moment you are a baby or a little girl and the next you are an adult and back again. In this dimension we are not only bound by time, it owns us. It’s hard to imagine an existence without it. Yet somewhere I believe it is so.

With much love and admiration and a heart that misses you always,

Mom

Claire on stage.