To My First Love

29 Years without You

Mama,

It’s been 29 years.

Twenty-nine years since I last saw your face, last heard your voice, last felt the warmth of your presence in the everyday moments that made life feel steady. And yet, even after all this time, I still remember our last day like it happened just a few hours ago.

I remember getting pulled out of school, confusion settling in like a weight on my chest. I remember coming home and not seeing your van in the driveway—the first sign that something was terribly wrong. I didn’t know then what I know now. That I was about to step into a life where you were no longer physically here, where every milestone, every moment of joy, and every heartbreak would be met with the quiet ache of wishing you were still by my side.

Now, as I inch closer to the age you were when you left—42—it hits me in a way I never expected. Mama, you were so young. Too young. I was just a child, but now, as a woman, I see you differently. I see how much life you still had left to live. How much more you probably wanted to do. And yet, even in your short time here, you left an imprint so deep that almost three decades later, I still feel your love shaping me.

The Love That Built Me

I think about our Saturday mornings, waking up early to make Daddy breakfast before heading out on our little adventures. Hobby Lobby and Hancock Fabrics were our playgrounds—whether it was socks, t-shirts, or those silk flower arrangements (that I swore were awful, but you sold them with so much pride). You had a gift, Mama. The ability to create something from nothing, to take the simplest things and turn them into something beautiful.

And Sundays? Sundays smelled like Folgers coffee and the sound of quiet pages turning as you sat at the breakfast table, newspaper in hand, coffee cup steaming beside you. Daddy would be in the kitchen, his own coffee in hand, making breakfast. It’s funny—I never stood a chance at avoiding coffee. It’s in my DNA.

Then there were the weeknights, when I sat at the table doing my homework while you guided me, your patience endless, your belief in me unwavering. In those moments, I felt like I could do anything because I had you. You were my spinal cord—the foundation, the structure, the strength that held me up.

Still Missing You, Still Loving You

Mama, I wonder all the time if I’m making you proud. I hope I am.

Some days, I feel so strong—like I’ve carried your legacy well, like I’ve taken all the love you poured into me and poured it into the world. And other days? Other days, the grief sneaks up on me, wrapping around my chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe. Those are the days when I miss you the most. The hard days. The days when I just want to hear your voice tell me everything will be okay.

I still love you like crazy. I still carry you with me in everything I do.

And on this day—29 years later—I just want to say…

Thank you.

For loving me so deeply that even death couldn’t take that away.
For being my first love, the one who set the standard for what love should feel like.
For every lesson, every moment, every single thing that made me me.

I love you. I miss you. And I hope, wherever you are, you’re smiling at the woman I’ve become.

Forever your daughter,
Ronisha 💛