Dear Mom,

You're still the first person I want to call when I have exciting news and the last person I think about when I've had a long day. You're the one I want to come crying to when I feel like the world is falling down around me. Truth is, I just need you. But, you're not here anymore.

I think a part of me died when you did. It's been more than a year and a half, but it feels like eternity and just yesterday at the same time somehow. I've gone through two birthdays without your 7 a.m.-on-the-dot phone call, and now, the only time I hear your voice is when I watch three videos I still have of us on my phone. I'd give anything to have more videos with you.

Life is extremely difficult without you here, Mom. Going through my senior year and the first year of college without you has been so incredibly tough. I couldn't run to you when I checked the mail and got my acceptance letter to my top choice school. I couldn't call you the first time I received an A on a math test since eighth grade. I can't do a lot of things anymore.

I've definitely made some mistakes since that morning I got the call. After you passed away, I spiraled out of control. I didn't stay at home for a week. I drank and smoked too much in an attempt to numb the pain, when all it did was put off that inevitable feeling until morning. I didn't know how to deal with losing the person who taught me almost everything I know, who also loved me unconditionally. I'm still trying to figure it out, and I'm not quite sure if I'm doing it right just yet.

I'm lost without you, Mom. People never understood our relationship because "how can you be so close with one of your parents?" They just didn't understand. You were my best friend; I told you everything that was going on in my life (no matter how awkward or embarrassing), and you somehow understood. I can count our number of fights on my fingers.

Dad and I are doing OK now. We pretended like we were fine in the beginning, even though we obviously knew we weren't, though. We still cry together sometimes over a glass (or three) of chocolate milk, but we're getting along. We talk about the adventures we went on with you and still laugh about how you talked with your hands and your eyes, and how no one in the world was a stranger to you. The nightmares still come on a regular basis, though, and waking up thinking you're still alive is the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with.

I don't know what my life would be like if you were still here. It's hard to think about. A lot of my friends, I realized, only stuck around me because they liked to be spoiled by you (and can I blame them? Not one bit). Once you were gone, they drifted away one by one. I like to think of this positively, though; my true friends wouldn't think twice about sticking by my side, and it's clear who these people are now. Another thing that could have been different is that I probably would have picked a different college. You always said you would get a condo wherever I went, so distance was never an issue. After you died, though, I wanted to stay close to home. I'm glad I did; my college is my home, and I wouldn't trade it for an Ivy League.

I miss jamming out in the car with you. I miss coming to you for advice when I need it most. I miss coming into your room and putting my head in your lap, and I miss how if you weren't in public, your hair was always in rollers. Most importantly, I miss being able to introduce you as my mother. It's strange how the majority of the friends I have now either never met you or only knew you for a very short time. They would have loved you, and you would have loved them. The ones who knew you, miss you so much. You will never know nor understand how much you were loved by anyone and everyone who met you.

I'm sorry for all of the times I was selfish and put my needs before yours. I'm sorry for all of the times I raised my voice or got annoyed with you. I'm sorry I ever took one second of your time for granted. I regret these things every day, Mom. If I could have any amount of time with you again, I would treat you how you deserved to be treated. The fact is, I never thought I'd lose you. I thought you'd always be here. I thought I'd hug you at my wedding, and I thought you'd rock my grandchildren to sleep. I was naive. Now, I know time is not unlimited, and if I had another chance to be with you, I would spend every second telling you how loved you are and how much I need and miss you still.

I know you wouldn't be happy with this, but I have tattoos now. All three of them bear some meaning in regards to you, though. I like to think of myself as a living memorial now; you're not here on earth anymore, but parts of you, whether they're genetic, manneristic or artistic, still live on with me. I know I'm lucky to have spent almost 18 years on Earth with an angel walking among us.

I know I haven't always made the best decisions, but I hope, you're still proud of me. As I will always be proud to be your daughter.