Dear Kurt, 

Today it was her birthday. I feel happy with myself for finally accepting things. Of course, it's difficult and there are specific dates when things are just harder, but now I know it was her time. I accept it. I finally accepted it.

There was a time I was too angry about all this. It was the first time I lost someone really closed to me, this way. There's a song, from Pearl Jam, that describes a lot what happened that night. «Now she's gone, even though I hold her tight, I lost my love, my life that night.» But now that I can think about it, having my emotions better controlled, I understand it happened the best way it could. No suffering, no loneliness. As she always wanted. 

There are a lot of memories related to her I'll never forget. She was always here. 

I remember she was always telling me about how full of life I was as kid. Always running away, always breaking stuff, hiding myself in the cupboards... I remember of how I always waited, every time I visited her, for 7 o' clock pm to come to leave. I'd always wanted to make sure I would only leave when her favorite TV show started - so that she was not alone. 

I remember those mornings when I picked up some stories and visited her. She was very patient. Always, even in those moments when I dressed her clothes, laughing uncontrollably.

I can clearly recall memories of me watering her plants and how she loved her favorite flowers, which I offered her in her birthday last year, and how she always let me draw in her wall.

Sooner, in the recent months before she passed away, I can feel as if it was happening now, the way she acted when we talked about boys. She really wanted me to have a boyfriend. Also, when I told her I was going to a different school, she showed me she cared. 

It's a really awkward feeling to know that today, differently from every year I can remember of, my mother didn't made a birthday cake, and after dinner, we didn't go to her home. All together. My parents, my sister, my grandparents, my aunt, my cousins. She always looked as if she wasn't expecting our visit, but she always knew we would go. Every year. 

I guess it's good for me to talk about this without crying anymore. It is a relief to finally recall all these memories about her peacefully. Maybe it's true what they say about time. It actually heals some bruises. There's, of course, a feeling of pain sometimes, too much associated with missing. But it is okay. And normal. And things will get better. In time.

«Peace, love, empathy.»