I wish I could open the door to your smiling face. I wish I could still hug you, getting whiffs of your Big Red gum and perfume that I’ve only ever smelled on you. I wish I could still sit at the kitchen table with you every morning you visited, watching you take out your curlers and do your hair for the day. I wish I knew you better. I wish I was older when you left us. I wish I could share stories about you when the family reminisces, rather than just listening to everyone else talk.

I wish I had more time.

I wish I would have asked you more questions, pried a little deeper. I wish I knew everything about the first time you were in love. Was it his voice, his eyes, his witty personality? Was it easy? Was it hard? Did you give up but then realize you couldn’t stay away from him? What was it like to have seven kids, or to have two — to learn to love and cherish each and every moment you spent with them, before they grew up in the blink of an eye?

I wish I knew what you thought of me now. What you would think of my college decision, of my major, of my job. I wish I knew if you’d like my boyfriend or not, if you thought he was the one for me, or if you’d agree with me when I told you he was.

I wish I could watch you cooking your infamous stuffing that I still get to enjoy each and every Thanksgiving. I wish I could have seen some of the handmade clothes you sewed for my sister’s barbie dolls. I wish I still had you there, supporting each and every play we put on for you and mom, or playing every single game of hide and seek in the dark with us without complaining when we cheated.

I wish you could have seen me at my Sweet 16. At prom. The day I turned 18 and got my first car. The day I graduated high school. The day I got my first college acceptance letter, and the second, and the third. The day I get engaged, get married, and have kids. The day I leave for my honeymoon and the day I buy my first home.

I wish I understood the two of you better before I lost you. I wish the memories were continuing to be made, rather than fading from my mind.

I never got the chance to ask you your fears, your desires, your ambitions. I never got to ask you if you were happy with everything you’ve accomplished. I never asked you if you regretted anything in life, or which memories you’d choose to relive again if you could. I never noticed the shade of your eyes — were they dark brown, light brown, or in between, like mine?

I never had the chance to tell you how much you meant to me, even in the short time we spent together. I never got to kiss you on the cheek one last time and say goodbye. I never got the chance to ask you if I make you proud. This is me hoping that you can still hear me. This is me hoping I make you proud.