I just returned from the funeral, and I was going through my mail. There were several sympathy cards, and the usual junk. There in the middle was a letter from her.

Just a month before I had turned 19; I went to Fiddler's. It was the third time and was quickly becoming a tradition. My parents came too (their first time); it was a nice treat to get to see them on my birthday. I didn't know it then, but that would be the last time I'd ever see her.

The night before Halloween we talked on the phone, it was something we did most days. She told me about this party she was going to with Keith. I don't remember what she was planning to wear, but she always did well with her costumes. I didn't know it then but that would be the last time I'd ever talk to her.

It was early on 11/1. I don't think we did much the night before. We probably went to a few haunted houses. Monica and I were sleeping in my dorm room bed.

Those dorm room beds were so small. They were barely large enough for one person, but somehow, if you were determined enough, you could fit another person in there with you. It wasn't comfortable per say, but it was comforting.

There we lay sleeping, relatively early by college standards, 8ish, when the phone rang. I couldn't tell you now who answered it, but it was for me. After that conversation, I've only eagerly waited for the phone to ring one more time, and that was for the next call. The call where I made him say it. The call where he said, "Jamie, we need you to come home," wasn’t good enough. "What do you mean you need me to come home?" Of course, I knew, but I had to hear it out loud. "Momma died, Jamie, She's dead." After that call, I've never regarded the phone ringing as a good thing. For me, it is just another chance for someone to be gone; for another significant part of my life to end in an instant.

In the years that followed I'd often dream of her, and at some point in the dream I’d know, "you're not supposed to be here." It is always at the moment of realization that it all fades. I don't want for you to go … not yet. In the end I am always grateful, grateful for a chance to see her one more time. The dreams are few and far between these days, and I miss them.

Momma, I miss you.