Dear Mom,

I’m writing this letter in the cemetery. Facing the mausoleum that says you’re gone.

Your name is carved in stone, but I still keep hoping you’ll answer when I ask:

Did I make you proud? 

It’s such a quiet question, but now that it has been a year since you’ve been gone and you’re not here to answer it, it echoes louder than ever.

I ask it over my morning coffee. I ask it when the girls say something funny that you would have loved. I ask it in the silence after a long day. I ask it because you were the first person who ever believed in me. Before coaches. Before teachers. Before I ever even believed in myself. You believed in me so early, so completely, it felt like you whispered a secret into my soul, one I could carry into the world.

And now, I’m whispering it back into the silence, hoping you still hear me somehow.

I didn’t know just how much I loved you…until I saw how much of me broke when you left. And still, even through the ache, your love stays, warming my heart and guiding my steps. It’s stitched into everything: The laughter of Giuliana and Natalia. The way they love without conditions. The way they laugh so hard their noses wrinkle, just like yours used to.

We often talked about the joys of parenting. You adored them. You adored being their Nana. And I promise, Mom — they will always know who you were. We’ll Be Like Boo. We’ll carry your joy. We’ll walk with your faith. We’ll love like it’s the only thing that matters.

You were there for my first breath. And when the moment came for your last…I wasn’t. 

I think about this a lot. Even though we shared private moments throughout your illness and on your final day, I couldn’t bring myself to be in the room.

I’m sorry, Mom. But deep down, I know you wouldn’t have held that against me. You were all grace. All kindness. All faith. People have thanked me for stepping up during your final months. But the truth is, you showed me how. 

Not with speeches. Not with declarations. But with presence. With quiet strength that held families together and made it look easy. You lived your values louder than words ever could. And even as your memory faded, your prayers never did.

Your faith wasn’t a performance; it was your breath. You always encouraged me to chase my dreams, to think big, to believe.

I’ll remember a lot from our time together here on earth. Of all the things you said to me, the one I’ll never forget was this: 

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Mom…you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And even now, in the quiet moments…when the world gets too heavy, when the silence feels unbearable,

I whisper it again:

Did I make you proud? 

And in the marrow of my bones, I believe the answer is yes.

Rest easy, until we meet again.

Your loving son,

Tommy

*Today, November 24th, marks the one-year anniversary of my mom’s death.

The above letter is an excerpt from my upcoming book “The Call I Almost Missed”