The last last year

I started this blogging journey a year ago today. 
On that date, I realized that it was the very last day that I could say, "My Mom died this month," or "My Mom died this year."  I knew that when I woke up the next morning, I would have to start saying, "She died last month." or worse "She died last year."


Today it's much the same.


December 31, 2011 is the last day that I can say, "My Mom died last year."


So now I have to figure out what to say.  I've been testing out a few choices

• My Mom died when I was 34.--So far this is the frontrunner for me.  Since I'm still 35, it makes if feel more recent.  Like I haven't been without her for as long.

• My Mom died in 2010--This one might work for me, since I have to pause while writing a check half the time to know what year it is.

• My Mom died X months ago--I think since the numbers would get so big so fast... it's got to be excluded.  It still feels like I should be counting the days.

• My Mom died a (couple, few, several) years ago

A couple of years?  Has it already been a "couple?"  The fact that I have to make the word year plural is bad enough.  I can't imagine when I have to say "She died 2 (or 3 or 4 or 5 or 10 or 20) years ago.


Today also marks another date in my family history.  Fifty years ago today, when my dad was 15... my Grandfather died.   My grandfather died in 1961.  Granddad (though I never met him, I think I would have called him Granddad) has been gone almost as long as he was here. 


I can't imagine living for all those years without my parent like he has.  He's told me that losing a spouse is much worse than losing a parent.  But he's grieved for his Dad for 50 years...  What will he say tomorrow?  "My father died over half a century ago?"

So regardless of which one I to choose... because maybe noone will really ask anymore...  the only one that seems to feel right is

• My Mom died too soon

Home

As hard as it is to "be" home.... To be in "her" home and not have her there. As hard as that is....It is ten times harder to leave it.

Because of the baby, I hadn't been there since the summer. Being there again was like pulling a bandaid off my heart...

But driving away... Not knowing when I'd be there again... Knowing that as much as I would like it to be... It will probably never be my home again....

That.was.brutal.

I wish I could pick up my new home... And all the important people in it... And move it 200 miles east.

Our second Christmas without her, and I still can't believe she's not here.

I can't help but try to hear her, so I am still just pretending she's in the kitchen doing dishes.

As merry as it was, it still didn't quite feel like Christmas.

Getting him back

There have been several times over this past year that I felt like I lost my Dad right along with my Mom.  At times that's been almost as hard as losing Mom.

Lewie was still there.  He still looked the same, but he was so different.

The voice was the same, but the things he said were different. 

He sounded like himself, but he didn't.

He sounded like my Dad, but he didn't.

My Dad's main parenting philosphy has always been, "rub it and say, "dog gone it"

It was his way of saying aknowledge the pain, and then move on.

I have tried very hard to not let my grief get in the way of his grief.  And I've tried very hard not to let his grief, or the way he has dealt with his grief get in my way.

But it has.

Through no fault of his own, at times, I've felt like I've had to become the parent.  Though he has never, nor would he ever, asked me to put my grief aside.  I've felt like I had to do it, to try to take care of him. 

I've tried to say the right things, which as you know, for me is VERY difficult.  I've tried to help.

But I've needed help too. 

My friends and family have been AMAZING.  But nothing takes the place of your parent.  I've needed for him to tell me to "rub it and say dog gone it.'  And I've needed him to do the same thing.

I've needed him to tell me that things were going to be ok, that we would get through it, even if he didn't believe it.

I've needed him to be the one to take care of me.

Dad feels guilty being happy.  He feels guilty having fun or enjoying things.

I understand this.  I know Mom wouldn't want him to feel that way.  HE knows Mom wouldn't want him to feel that way. 

But sometimes our brains and hearts don't see eye to eye.

Last night, I told Dad that sometimes I feel guilty for being so happy to have Courtlynn. 

She is such a doll.  I just adore her.

But if my Mom wouldn't have died... I wouldn't have had her. 

I feel guilty that I have such happiness... because of what it took to get it.

In my heart it feels like somehow this:

"Mom died.  I got Courtlynn.  Courtlynn makes me happy.  I am happy."

Gets all twisted into:

 "I am happy Mom died"

I told Dad how I felt. 

"Oh Sara!" he said, "You can't feel that way!  You know that!  God had a plan, and this was all part of the plan!"

Even if he can't believe that for himself right now, he was able to do what a parent does, and tell me what I needed to hear.

It was like he was telling me to "rub it and say dog gone it."

Last night, I heard a glimpse of "that" Dad.

Thank God.  I'm happy to have him back.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving 2010 was normal.  We were together with most of Mom's family.  She took her Toll House pies and tea and frozen fruit salad.

Black Friday was great.  James stayed with the boys while Mom and I hit up Kohl's and Glenbrook and had a yummy lunch for just the two of us at Red Robin.  Mom wore a silly Christmas sweater, and I didn't even tease her.

Saturday after Thanksgiving was low key.  Mom spent most of the day on the love seat with a headache while the boys played on the floor around her.

Sunday after Thanksgiving she hugged us all goodbye and waved until we drove over the hill.

Sunday after Thanksgiving was the last time I saw my mom.  It's been over a year now since my mom hugged me.

The last time I talked to her was on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving.

It's been over a year now since I've talked to my mom. 

I've heard her voice... thank God that Dad has kept her cell phone active. 

The Wednesday after Thanksgiving 2010, I woke up and went about my day.  Before I went to bed that night my Mom was gone.

All I can do this week is survive.  I feel like I'm barely doing that.  I'm crying all the time... I'm short tempered, and have not been a very good mom or wife or friend.

I hate this week of anniversaries. 

I hate that it takes my joy. 

I hate my "poor me" attitude right now. 

I hate that this sadness is making me miss out on this last week of maternity leave with Baby Courtlynn. 

I hate that I'm obsessed with how old my children will be when I'm 63....and how many years there are until then.

I hate that I want to crawl in my bed, pull the covers over my head and cry. 

For years. 

I'm drowning in this sadness and I hate it. 

I don't know what I want.  I don't know what I need. 

Well I do... but the one thing I want and need is the one thing that isn't possible.

I'll be better in a few days. 

I can't keep crying forever. 

I hope not anyway.

Suttie Joe will be 3 in just a few days...

Part of me can't believe that he will be 3...the other part can't believe that he will ONLY be 3.

He is SUCH a big boy.  He has a mind of his own, and personality and stubbornness to spare.

He talks up a storm, has an imagination to envy, and gives his brother a run for his money!

He's sneaky, snugglie, and sweet.

And for nearly 3 years... he was my baby.

But please don't call him Baby Suttie.  He's Big Boy Suttie Joe.

When Suttie turned 2 he had a verbal explosion.  It's like he had just been observing everything for two years, and then was ready to tell everyone what he thought.  He was starting to want to talk to people on the phone, and Mom really thought that was great.

When we went home for Thanksgiving last year, Mom just couldn't get over how much he was talking.  I remember her sitting on the love seat just watching him.  She was just amazed at home much he had changed since she had seen him last. 

What would she think about my baby now?

He's forgetting her.  He knows who she is in pictures, but he's forgotten what it was like to get to her house and have her be so excited to see him.  He's forgotten how she would hide in thier playhouse until he found her or how she loved to rock him.

I can't help crying when I think about it.  I cry because they were all cheated.  I cry everytime they celebrate a new milestone, and I cry for them, I cry for Mom, and mostly I cry for me. 

I plan to live for another 50 or 60 years.  I plan to live to see my babies pass the age my mom herself lived to see. 

And so I cry.  And if I keep crying, well that's a lot of tears. 

But thankfully, that's also a lot of birthdays and growing, and smiles, and snuggles and stories.  But I'm always going to wish my Mom was here to share it with us, because no one enjoyed those things more than her.

I laid in bed last night looking at Baby Courtlynn, partially still in awe that she is here.  The other part though was just trying to imagine what she was going to look like when she got older, and wonder what her personality would be like.  Will she be blond like Keegers?  Will she have Daddy's blue eyes... or will she be my Brown Eyed Girl?  Will her coloring be like Suttie Joe's?  Will she be as sneaky and stuborn as her brothers?

I wonder what she will be like as a toddler, a little girl, a teen.  I wonder what her interests will be, what will she be good at, what will she love?  What will she be?  Who will she love?

It's not just Courtlynn... I wonder this about all my babies. 

Keegan looks exactly the same today at age 4 as he did at 4 weeks.  Suttie and Baby Coutylynn change from moment to moment.  I can't imagine ever not looking at them with this same mix of curiosity and awe.

I wonder how often my mom looked at all of us the same way.  I wonder if we turned out to be who she thought we would be.

Lasts and Firsts

November is hard.  There are so many "lasts" this month.  The last time I saw her, the last time I hugged her, shopped with her, talked to her on the phone, or watched her with the boys. 

My life is so different this November than it was last.  Who knew then, that in a year I would be without my mom... but have a beautiful baby girl.  A baby who is experiencing so many firsts.  First smiles, first smooches, first snuggles.

I can't let my grief overtake me.  If I did that... I would be missing out on all these firsts.  My mom would HATE if I did that.  She hated that she missed out on ANYTHING with us girls or any of the grandkids. 

We were so blind sided with Mom's death last year that we didn't know that we needed to be savoring all those moments.  We took that time with Mom for granted.  I don't want to do that again. 

My house is a mess.  A HUGE mess... I'm barely keeping my head above the water there... but it's not the first time.  And Lord knows it won't be the last time.... 

So as tough as this month is... its still a really good month.  I'm savoring all these moments with Baby Courtlynn and her brothers.  I'll never have this time with them again.  I'll never get to see these firsts again. 

Laundry can wait.  Dishes can wait.  But enjoying this time with my little ones... well that can't wait.

Thankful

I have a lot of things I want to write about... namely our gorgeous little girl Courtlynn Cynthia Rose... 

but to think about writing about my thoughts and feelings about Mom... leaves me thinking about Mom... which of course makes me overwhelmingly sad.

I'm sad that she's missing out on this new little one... and that the new little one is missing out on her.

But I'm trying VERY hard to just sit back and enjoy this incredible gift... and to focus on how blessed we really are.

What a bittersweet year it's been.

I lost my amazing mom... but without that loss... we wouldn't have this gorgeous little addition to our family.

So I'm taking the time to enjoy.

I'm taking the time to be thankful.

Because I have a whole lot right now to be thankful for!

My selfish grief.

This weekend marked the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. 

I did my best to stay away from the television, the newspaper, etc.

Of course I remember where I was that day.  Much the same as I remember where I was when the Challenger exploded, or people remember where they were when Kennedy was assassinated. 

I don't need to go over any of those details.  If you were alive at that time, you know them well enough.

My grief over Mom is still too raw for me to join in others grieving.  While I by no means know the horror those people have faced the last 10 years with those horrible events on that September morning... I know my own horror.

Like them, I know what it is like to wake up feeling normal one day, to have that all suddenly riped from you in an instant.  I know what it's like to miss that person taken from me under terrible circumstances, and I know what it's like to wonder if that person would be proud of the person I am becoming.  I know what it's like to miss the sound of their voice, or the touch of their skin. 

I know.  I remember.  I can never forget.

I should not compare my one single loss to that of an entire nation.  My loss has been private, not put out there for everyone to see over and over.

But what I should or shouldn't do isn't always up to me. 

In a way... I know what those people have gone through.

And in a way... maybe this grieving nation of ours knows a little more what I've been through too.

Socks

I'm nesting... i.e. driving my poor husband James insane...He's taken to calling me things like "Mother Hen" and Woody Woodpecker"... (He has wisely stayed away from calling me BIG bird... and I've wisely chosen not to wear yellow to tempt him)

I think that finding out that our little one will be here a couple of weeks earlier than originally planned might have something to do with my current state of panic.

This weekend I started packing my bag for the hospital.

I think that was the give away that I was nesting.. since I never pack until about 10 mintues to departure.

I opened up my drawer of socks, and had to pause to collect myself.

I love socks.  I love just plain cotton socks.  My favorite are fresh out of the package socks. 

I've said many times, that when I'm famous and I make appearances, the venue will have to supply me with a new pair of socks for every event. 

So when I opened the drawer of my collected socks, looking for a pair to take to the hospital, I flashed to a memory of my loony Mother.

When I was induced with Suttie, the doctor decided to try to hurry things along by breaking my water.  Not long after this, I was waddling my way to the bathroom, and well... let's just say my water finally gushed... all over my socks.

I have plenty of socks.  And I know they say "water" but come on... it's not really water now is it?

But my Mother, dear sweet Mother, was just SURE that we should save those socks and "just throw them in the washer!"

I took a stand.  I put my soggy foot down and told her that by NO MEANS were we going to keep those socks.

I assume she did as I asked...and threw them away

But knowing her... maybe she didn't.

I wonder if somewhere there in my sock drawer... are those socks. 

I wonder if she's smiling her little "shit eatin grin" at me right now while I try to figure it out.

Grandma's Hands.

This is one of my favorite pictures.  Not just because today is Baby Owen's first birthday... and it's fun to see how big he's gotten and how much he's changed... but because of what else is going on in this picture.

A year ago today, Grandma Cindy was there to welcome and huggle her newest grandbaby.  I love this picture for that reason.  I love that we see my Mom's hands holding little Oh Oh's hand in his first few hours.

I love it because I know that it's what she's still doing.  I know that with whatever issues/concerns/complications we have going on with this pregnancy, it doesn't matter.  We aren't alone.  She's still right there with us, holding our hands. 

And I know she will keep holding this little one's hands... long after he or she arrives here safely.

Conversations in my Head

I still have conversations with my Mom.


Not in the weird "I think she's in the room with me" kind of way... but in the "I am not so far removed from actually HAVING conversations with her that I still know what she would say" kind of way.


Yesterday's "conversation" took place over the phone... like so many others that we've had in the last few years have been.


It went a little something like this.

Me:  Hey.  What's going on?


Mom:  I JUST got in the door.  Hold on while I put the milk in the fridge.  (pause...sounds of 30 pound purse being dropped into closet...)  I stopped at Hallmark on my way home from work to get a card for Owen's birthday and for (insert random person and random "occasion") then stopped at Hagan's.  Your Dad is heading to (insert random place said in a way that meant I should know exactly where that place was) tonight and I had to get stuff for his cooler.  (Insert random name) was in there and said (insert random bit of gossip that I'm so far removed from that it doesn't matter...) Your Dad's in there in his chair taking a nap right now.  I swear, he can sleep on command.  I've got to figure out something to feed him before he goes. 


Me:  You know he's a big boy right... he can take care of himself.


Mom:  Maybe YOU should tell HIM that.  So did you have your doctor's appointment today?


Me: Yeah, I'm heading home now. 


Mom:  How did it go?  What was your blood pressure?


Me:  120/64.


Mom:  Hmmmm... that's high for you.  Better than 2 weeks ago, but what did she say?


Me:  She wants to keep an eye on it.  Said that it's still in the normal range, but high for me.


Mom:  What else? 


Me:   Um, well I had some protein in my urine again and little swelling in my feet, so she wants to run some baseline tests to know where things are at.  Testing my liver enzymes to make sure it's not the same thing I had with Suttie.

Mom: And then what? 

Me:  Um, well if things don't come back like she wants, possible bedrest.  I asked about getting induced at 39 weeks like she mentioned before and she started talking about what would happen if I was induced at 38 weeks...I'm kinda freaking out a little.

Mom:  Are you drinking enough water?  You need to get your feet up.  I had to do that for 10 days with your sister after my water broke.  That will help with the swelling.  Make sure you aren't sitting on your legs.  That's how I was sitting when my water broke.  I'm going to get my bag packed just in case and I'll let them know at the Courthouse what's going on so incase I have to take off, but you are going to be fine.  That baby will come when he or she is good and ready.

Me: I know.  I'm just having a little panic attack. 

Mom: Well of course you are, you're my daughter.  I'm going to have my phone right here with me.  You call me any time.  I have the phone right by my bed and I won't be able to sleep if I know you aren't able to sleep.

Me:  I know.  I'll be fine.  I need to get going anyway.  The boys are (insert some random form of oneryness).  I just wanted to let you know what was going on.  I should know more about the tests in a few days.

Mom:  Ok Hunny.  Let me know what they say.  Give those Doll Babies a big squeeze for me.  I'll talk to you soon, and call if you need me.  Love you!

Me:  Love you too.  I'll talk to you soon.

I'm calling her, but if I thought her cell reception in Denver was bad.... well it REALLY sucks where she's at now!  Thank goodness I have a Hubby who says, "It is what it is, and we'll be fine!" and some wonderful friends and family who are also sitting by their phones.

 

There are so many things going on in all of our lives right now... so many things that I want to pick up the phone and call my Mom to talk about.  I miss calling her when I'm happy.  I miss calling her when I'm sad.  I miss calling her when the boys do something new or funny.  I miss calling her out when she does or says something silly.

I miss seeing her come out the front door to greet us when we get to their house. 

I miss calling it Grandma and Grandpa's house.

I miss calling to tell her what my blood pressure was.  Silly... but she cared about that.

I miss feeling like myself.

I miss....everything.

The individuality of grief is very interesting to me.

I read an article earlier this week about the things people want their friends to say or do after a loss.  But what a tricky, tricky thing that is.  What one person wants or maybe even NEEDS to hear varies so much.

People have always compared me to my Dad.  We are SO similar in SO many ways.  Yes, I apologize for this... I tend to think I got a little screwed on the gene dispersion.

My Dad goes to the cemetary several times a week.  Since Mom died, he's put up pictures of her all over the house.  He needs that.  It's part of his process.

It is NOT part of mine.

I have no desire to ever visit her grave.  Dad asks our opinion on what to put on the tombstone, and I'll tell him even if I don't want to see it. I don't want to see the trees planted in her memory, or see a light that is hung in her name.

She is dead.  I know this and I hate this and I don't want any tangible reminders of it.

I don't mind talking about her, in fact I need to talk about her, but right now I have a hard time looking at pictures of her.  That is part of my process.

And how are people to know that Lewie and "Little Lewie" can be so different?

A few nights ago, Suttie and I were laying together watching a few cartoons before bedtime.  "Mommy?  I see Baby Oh Oh?" he said handing me the iPod. 

Keegers and Suttie LOVE "their" Baby Owen.

"Sure you can!" I said as I dialed up the old Facebook.  "Just a minute, I just have to find Aunt Wheezy's pictures!"

We started out with some recent shots, and scrolled our way through all the way back to his earliest days.

The pictures of my mom holding him about did me in.  The first one, a profile shot of he snuggling him... Suttie didn't recongnize at first.  That caused the tears to start.  Then moving to the one where Mom was so proudly holding him at work.  Wow.  Those are always hard to see because I know we won't get any more of those.

I had to put down the ipod though after seeing the one of Keegers and Suttie during our first visit to see Baby Oh Oh.  Not because of the pictures, but of the comments that my mom had made on those pictures. 

She adored our babies... and wasn't afraid to share it!

I miss those little comments.  I love that we still have them, to know what she was thinking in that moment... but I hate knowing that we have every picture of her that we are going to have... and she's made every comment that she is going to make.

I've made a choice.

A choice that will hopefully never have needed to be made.

A choice that many will probably not agree with, but luckily... it's not their choice to make.

I've made a choice, and I've shared it with my husband and he's fine with it too.

My choice is based on too many Lifetime/Hallmark/Chick flicks.

My choice is this.

If something were to happen between now and the time this baby is born, and the doctor says to my poor husband, "We can only save one of them, you have to choose which one."

I want him to save me.

Egads!  The selfishness!  The humanity!  What kind of mother am I?  How could I do that to my child?

I've long ago since conceeded that I'll never be the level of mother my mom was.  I might be the shittiest kind out there, but the fact remains that I'm the only one that Keegers and Suttie have.

And here's the deal. 

I've lost a mom.

I've lost someone who vowed to love me and protect me until her dying breath.

I've lost someone who could heal me with a hug or a smile or a shoulder or a kind word.

I've been devestated beyond repair by that loss, and I can't imagine putting my boys through that same loss.

I know everything there is to know about those boys.  I know their quirks, their smiles, their fears.  I know their smells, I've tasted their tears, and I've felt their hugs.

I vow to love them and protect them until their dying breath.

I LOVE this baby.  I will do everything I can to protect this baby, but I have to protect my other babies too.

As terrible as it sounds, I don't know this baby.  I've never seen this baby's face or heard this baby's cry.  I've never snuggled this baby, or wiped it's tears away.

I don't know this baby in the same way that I know Keegers and Suttie.

My mom would never for a second have made the same choice. 

Maybe God came to her, and told her that he had planned to give me this baby... but that I would lose it.

Maybe my mom made the choice right then.  To have God take her instead of me or this baby.

I wouldn't put it past her.

I know my choice will change.  The instant this baby is born and I see it's sweet little Murphy Ege face... my choice will change.  If in the delivery room they hand me that baby and something starts to happen... I know what the choice will be.  It's not that I believe that this little one's life begins at birth.  Far from that.  It's hard to explain.

A better mom would make the choice the instant she found out she was pregnant.  But unfortunately for all my babies.... I'm the only mom they get.

I'm a Duck. Thank you for being a Fish.

Someone said to me a couple of weeks ago..."You seem to be doing so well with everything."  This was moments after I had had a partial breakdown out of nowhere.

Those happen, and they aren't usually partial, but usually I can hold out on them until I'm alone.

I'm a duck.

Well that seems random, so I should explain.

On the surface... things are calm and serene and I'm floating along in my happy little pond.

Most days, I appear to be just a normal happy little duck, letting the water roll off my back.

My Mom was like that.  She would go shopping, leave on vacation or walk into Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations, the picture of serenity, happy to see everyone, joking and hugging and smiling.

My mom was a duck too.

We see the duck above the water, but do you know what a duck looks like to a fish?

To a fish, a duck is this violent storm of kicking and splashing around just trying to get where they are going... knowing they won't survive if they don't...all while the rest of the world thinks they have no cares in the world.

The fish know the truth. 

The truth is, my mom secretly (well not so secretly to us...) had major anxiety attacks before all those events.  I learned to just try to take over to get some things done just like Karri always did... Dad and Lindsey learned to stay out of her way.  I don't know how many times she threatened to stay home, or to cancel everything.

My Mom was a duck... kicking and fighting to survive... but on the surface she appeared to be letting the water roll right off her back. 

I'm a duck.

On the surface I'm just taking it all in... letting all the muddy water of the last 6 months roll right off my back...

But the fish in my life know.  They know that I am kicking and fighting just to survive... They recognize this and they know they can do two things for me... they can jump in and take over to get things done... or they can get out of my way! 

Thank God for the fish! 

All those fish who tell me... "Just keep swimming... Just keep swimming"

I'm a Duck...and because of the fish I have the strength to just keep swimming and swimming.

Thank you all for being such understanding fish.

We got to see our little one yesterday.

I've been very cautious this time around, not talking about the pregnancy much except with those closest to me.  It's almost as if... ok it's not almost... it's because I'm scared.  I'm scared of getting my heart broken if something happens to this little one.

Yesterday, as we were getting the boys loaded in the car, James and I were making last minute arrangements to meet later to go to the appointment together.

"I always get so nervous going to these things," I said. 

"Why?" he replied. 

"Because what if we get there and they tell us something is..."

"We'll deal with it," he cut in quickly, instantly calming me.

Have I mentioned how much I adore my husband?

I've said from the start that I knew my mom would send us the child she felt was perfect for us.  So if we got there and they told us that there were going to be some special needs with this child or pregnancy... well that would be because that is the child and situation we were meant to have at this time in our life.

Yes.  We know the gender, and no we still aren't telling... because it isn't the important thing to know right now. 

The important thing to know right now is this. 

Our baby is healthy and its' heart is strong.

Of course I know that things can still go wrong, and I can still have my heart broken.  But today.  I'm a little less scared, a little more excited, and a lot more in love with my family.  I'm trusting in my mom's selection and God grace... and I'm trusting in my amazing support system spearheaded by my husband.

And as for the gender, my mom got it right.  But then again it was a win-win situation for her.

What a strange and wonderful, yet bittersweet week this is for me!

It's been all about the numbers and time this week.

I'm counting down the DAYS until the end of school and to the day that our big boys get here for the summer.

Keegers was counting down the DAYS until he turned 4.  He's four YEARS old!  How in the world is that possible?  He had at least a DOZEN friends come to play and celebrate with him!

On Friday, I will be 20 WEEKS pregnant.  My mom hated that we talked in WEEKS for pregnancy now, so I always translated it for her.... that's 4 1/2 MONTHS.  We are halfway there!  Today in fact, we will have an ultrasound and have the chance to see our little one. And... if we choose, we could even find out if my Mom sent us a little boy or a little girl.

We still haven't decided if we will find out or not.... and even if we do, we won't be sharing.

Days, Weeks, Months, Years.

It just keeps on going, doesn't it?

Today marks the 6 month anniversary of Mom's death.  That's half a year, yet feels like a freaking lifetime.

It's funny to me how we make the transition of time.  When did we stop counting the moments, hours, or days?  When did we stop counting Keegan and Sutton's life in the terms of months... and just move on to years?  Age 2? 

I've already left behind hours, days and weeks for my Mom.  How will I feel when I stop counting the months?

This "thing", this loss has made me question these countdowns a whole lot.  When I was pregnant with either of the boys, when someone would ask how far along I was, I think I could quote the weeks and days almost instantly.  It's not the same this time.  I feel like I'm short changing this little one somehow with not showing that same dedication and excitement. 

It's hard to pass the time of my pregnancy.  Each week means that I'm one week farther removed from my mom, and one week closer to not having her here for this baby.  And each hour that I countdown to the Ultrasound, or to the birth of this little one... gets me one hour closer to the day when someone starts counting down for me.

Bittersweet for sure.

But... as I am for sure my mother's daughter... today I'm choosing to focus on the sweet part of that bittersweet.  I'm focused on the candy coating part of my day.

We get to see our baby... her grandbaby.

That's a "hot fudge sundae with chocolate sprinkles and a Hershey Bar on top" kind of sweet day.

A conversation with a not quite 4 year old...

A few days ago, just out of the blue, Keegers said to me, "Mommy, when you go to Heaven, can you please come back?  I don't want you to leave me and Suttie Joe alone."


He was so clear in his question, yet I had no idea of what to say in response.


He's so smart, and of course I try to never lie to him.  I try, and that time when I told him that if he didn't start sleeping in his bed I was going to take his birthday... well it was a moment of weakness.  But in the past when he's chosen to believe that Grandma was with Kevin in the sky... we kinda let it go.  It seemed like a nice enough thought for me, Grandma, just hangin with her good buddy Kevin. 


I struggled from the start on how to explain to him that Grandma was dead, and that she couldn't come back, but that's a lot for a little guy.  We never told him she was asleep, because she wasn't.  We tried to explain that it was her heart that stopped, but don't want him getting alarmed when someone says, "Oh that just breaks my heart..."  So we simply told him that Grandma was dead, and that we were going to miss her.  Hearing his little voice say, "My grandma's dead" always causes me a little pain.  But it's true, whether he says it or not.


So to hear him say that he wanted me to come back from Heaven, well it threw me.  It threw me, because of course I don't want to leave them.  I feel guilty going to the store alone... let alone leaving them forever.... but it also threw me, because he's not quite 4.  It seems like such a young age for him to be processing all of this.  It threw me that at not quite 4, he's learning what REAL separation anxiety is like. 


So I lied.  Or maybe I didn't.  I don't know. 

I said to him, "Keegers--It doesn't work that way, remember?  Once you go to Heaven, you can't come back, even if you really, really want to.  That's why Grandma can't come and play with us any more.  But you don't have to worry....Mommy's not going to Heaven for a very long time.  I'm going to stay with you and Suttie Joe for a very, very long time."

Because at some point, hopefully when I'm very, very old, and I've watched them grow, and when they no longer need me... I'll slip off as peacefully as my Mom did... to go and hang with my good friend Kevin.  And I hope at that time, that I've done as good of job of letting them know how much their mom adores them as my mom did for me. 

Certificate of Participation

I've been thinking a lot about certificates lately.

A few weeks ago I got copies of my grandpa and grandma's death certificates in the mail to deal with part of my grandpa's estate.  My mom was a beneficiary of course, so since she's gone, that falls to the girls and I to deal with.  To do that, I have to submit those certificates, along with my mom's and then also my birth certificate.

So on your first day of life, you get a birth certificate.  On this tiny slip of paper, you will find basic information.  This is your name.  These are your parents.  This is where you were born.  It says NOTHING about what your parents were thinking, or hoping, or praying.  It says nothing of what they dreamed for you, or what you meant to them.  This is your Proof of Enrollment.

On your last day of life, you get a death certificate.  On this slightly bigger piece of paper you will find more basick information.  This is your name.  These are your parents.  This is where you were born, this is where you died.  This is what your job was, this is who you married.  And sadly, this is why you died. (Myocardial Infarction).  They should call this a Certificate of Completion.

These pieces of paper seem so important to so many people/companies/etc.

But I want another certificate.

I want a Life Certificate.  A "Certificate of Participation" if you will. 

Where is the paper that tells what Cynthia Ann "Little" Murphy dreamed.  Where's the paper that says. "This is who you loved, and who loved you?"  Where is the paper that says you loved to travel, wear high heels, and play cards?  Where's the certificate that says you once made two batches of cheesy potatoes... and forgot to add the cheese to both?

Where's the certificate that says that you were a devoted daughter, sister, wife, and mother.

Where is the certificate that says you adored your grandchildren?

Where's the certficate that says you held the S a little longer than needed when you said Miami County Courthoussssse?

We have those papers to tell us how you were born, and how you died. 

But the one that is most important to me... the one no one gave me, is the one that said this is how you LIVED...

What I know

Here's what I know.

That sentence used to be different.

At first, I wrote, "Here's what I believe"

But there is a difference between believing something and knowing something.

example... they believed the earth was flat...

So here is what I know.

I know, that when someone passes away, their life is not over.

I know that they transistion from their life here, to their life in the afterworld.

I know this.

I know this, because I have proof.

Again, this is what I know... not what I believe, and CERTAINLY not what YOU believe. 

Because honestly... I don't really care what you believe.

Here is the proof that I have.

Years ago, I lost a very good friend.  She was the good friend... I had infact NOT been a very good friend.

After her death, I carried around terrible grief and guilt for years. 

And then, because she was the better friend, and because she knew I had suffered enough, she came to me.

She came to me in a dream, and simply smiled at me.  And with that smile, I knew that I was forgiven.

I know that she forgave me.

When my grandmother passed away, my dad grieved for her.  Just like with us, his mom had been a huge influence and part of his life. 

He still needed her.

And so she came to him one last time.  In a dream.

She came and told him that she was ok... but that she wouldn't be coming back to see him any more. 

If Grandma was anything, she was true to her word.  And true to her word, she hasn't been back.

And my Mom...

Of course my Mom would be checking in on us.

Last Sunday marked the 22nd anniversary of my "3-Wheeler Accident".

The accident that nearly killed me, that caused me to spend 27 days in the hospital, which in turn caused my Mom to spend 27 days in the hospital.

Because that's what she did... she took care of us.

So it's no surprise that she has been to see my Dad several times.  His need for her comfort is great.

There are times that she checks in that we know it... there are times we just sense it.

It might be when we are just sure we heard her breathing... or when she left a trace of her perfume.  

The boys haven't told me, but I'm sure that there are times when they giggle in their sleep that she's been to see them too.

Karri has ALWAYS been intuitive... so I'm sure if Mom hasn't been there yet, she will be, but that's Karri's story to tell.

She's been to see Lindsey too.  More proof that Mom's ok... but that she's still worried about us.  I know that when Owen woke Lindsey up recently, in the middle of a dream, it was really less of a dream, and more of a conversation.   In that instance, Lindz had gone to see Mom at work, and she was there. Lindsey told Mom that she had died and started crying. At hearing this, Mom immediately got excited and said, "that means we can all have a pinoche tournament, even with Aunt Toots."

And then, Mom being Mom, she looked at Lindsey and said, "oh Honey, I am so sorry!" then she hugged Lindz really tightly and cried with her.

Yes, she is dead.  I know this.  Not a moment of my life goes by that I don't know this.  

But I also know this.  

My Mom is dead, but her life is not over.

My Mom is dead, but her involvement in my life is not over.

I know this. 

I take comfort in this.

It's not enough, but it's something.

Happiness = Forgetting to Remember

When my grandpa passed away, my aunts and cousins had the daunting task of cleaning out his house. 

I stopped by, but let's be honest, I was little to no help at all.  

We were able to pick out a few things if we wanted to take them.  There was nothing that I really had to have...but in the garage I saw a painting that I couldn't pass up.

It was a painting that had hung in their home for as long as I can remember, and had been painted by my Grandma Snookie's sister Aunt Toots.  (ok, Vertis and Flossie...)

I hated to see it be thrown out, not just because I liked it, but also because my mom had a very special relationship with her Aunt.

I brought it home, not really sure of where I would put it, but knew that I would find a place for it.

The other day, it hit me where the perfect place would be!  I was SO very excited!  I just knew that Mom was going to be thrilled when she came to visit and saw it hanging in my house!  I was so happy that I headed to the phone to call....

I was happy.

I was happy.

I. Was. Happy...

because I had forgotten.

I had forgotten that she won't ever come and see it

I had forgotten that she can't pick up the phone

I had forgotten the void in my life

I had forgotten the hole in my heart.

I had, for just the briefest moment, forgotten...and I was happy.

Damn it!  I WAS HAPPY!  My Mom was alive and I was happy!

and then I remembered.....

I'd like to forget again please.

I didn't realize how hard Mother's Day was going to be this year... until I started to see all those Facebook profile pictures of people with their Moms....

I really hate that I don't have more pictures of me with my Mom.... and that I lost my chance to get them.

Getting lost without my roadmap.

I can't remember if I shared this before or not.  I had bookmarked it on my computer and just saw it again.  Her story sounds so similar to our own.

This quote in particular hit home pretty hard. 

"The greatest woman I have ever known is my own mother, who passed away suddenly last fall. She was and still is my compass, she is my North."

My mom was TOTALLY the compass.  She worked silently to help guide us in the right direction, but knew that ultimately we had to be the ones to decide it was the right way for us.  She was the navigator, the keeper of the roadmap.  How can you find your way without that?

I don't think I'll be able to find an update on Garmin that measures up to what Mom did for us.

I'm not lost.  We Murphys NEVER get lost... but I certainly AM bewildered!

Anyway... if you have a spare minute, check out the blog entry.  Elisabeth Rohms (Law and Order) Blog's about losing her mom

Intervention Divine

A few days after Mom died, I said to James, "You know... I had kinda thought about having one more.... but now that Mom's gone, I can't."  "I know" he said.  "I know."  My Mom had been in the room with us when both the boys were born, and stayed those first exhausting days helping out, doing dishes, scrubbing the floor.... letting me cry, and just holding and loving my babies.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't still thought about another baby from time to time.   (And though he probably won't admit it... James had from time to time too.)  I was blessed with great pregnancies like my Mom... and have gorgeous babies... also like my Mom.  In the back of my head, I thought, "well if James gets out and gets a great job, and we get a little more financially stable... maybe I'll mention it."  But in the front of my head, I knew that there was NO WAY he would want to have a baby after age 40.

 And that was it.  In that brief exchange of words, we finally made the decision that we were done.

Of course we should have been done with Suttie.  The instant I held him for the first time, I felt this overwhelming sense of completion.  He was Ege boy number four.  He was the final "cog" in our Disneyland Family.  Being one of three... I knew what it was like to go to an amusement park and have to decide who was going to ride alone, or sit out. 

But more than that... we aren't getting any younger and it's not like we are rolling in the cash.  In fact, since James' retirement, finances have definitely been a big stress for us. 

How many times did my Mom tell me...."You never wait until you are ready to have a baby... because you'll never have a baby."

I imagine it only took Mom a short amount of time to find her way to Heaven's Nursery.  Just a few days after she passed, the circle of life continued with the birth of one of Lindsey's best friend's son.  Of course Mom would have been drawn to this new little "Dylan."  So when he was fighting for his life in those early days, I'm SURE that she was holding him tight, rocking him while the doctors here on Earth took care of him.  

I'm sure it was about the time little Dylan stopped needing her that she started looking around at all those other little souls, and made a shocking discovery.

Grandbaby Number #9

I'm sure she grinned a huge grin... and rubbed her hands together with anticpation as she made her way over to this new little soul. 

"Let Grandma Cindy hold you for a little while!" she must have said.

She must have known that she wouldn't get to hold this little one for long, so I'm sure she made the most of her time.  I'm sure she rocked this little one in a squeaky chair just like the one she had rocked all her other Grandbabies in.  "Oh you little Pumpkin Eater!" I'm sure she said more than once.  "Where's Grandma's sugar?" she surely asked... and then snuggled the baby's neck to find it. 

Even though there is probably no poop in Heaven... I'm sure she changed that little one's diaper multiple times... and gave that "dollbaby" several baths and slathered it in baby lotion... but only Johnson's...

And then she must have said, "Oh!  I'm gonna miss you so much!"  and then hugged the baby tightly for as long as she could...

And then... ready or not... she sent that baby to us.  Trusting us to love it as much as she did. 

And we will.  Because how you could NOT love a baby that has been hand picked for you from someone who loved babies so much.

ANY baby of ANY gender.

It's bittersweet for sure.  I have a really hard time looking at pictures of my Mom with her other 8 grandbabies... knowing that there will be no pictures of her with this little one.  It's hard knwing that she won't be in the room with us, or there to share in all those little milestones with this little one, but how lucky is this baby to have had that special time with Grandma Cindy in Heaven?

So there it is.  Through intervention divine... we are having grandbaby #9.

PS.

Please, please, please.  Do not ask if we are "hoping for a girl" or say "I bet this is your girl!  That is horribly offensive to us.  It implies that we were in some way dissappointed when our previous babies were boys.  We are hoping for a healthy baby.  We ADORE our boys.  My Mom ADORED our boys.  If she decided that the perfect baby for us was another boy we will be thrilled.  If she decided the perfect baby for us was a girl we will be thrilled.
 

Reunion at last...

My Grandpa passed away on April 8th.  Friends and family were worried about how I would take it... since it was my birthday.... but that never bothered me a bit.  I was happy that his pain had ended, he could once again walk unassisted, hear clearly, and see his wife and three oldest daughters greet him at the gates of Heaven!  If nothing else, it gives me a lasting tie to a really great guy. 

Grandpa called me Elaine.  With all the grandkids that he had... you wouldn't be surprised if he got a name wrong here or there... but he called me Elaine because he thought that I look like Julia Louis Dreyfus on Seinfeld.  He told me I just wasn't allowed to call him Krammer.  I LOVED that.  I loved that he said he got to see me every night on tv.  I loved the fact that my 93 year old grandpa watched Seinfeld. 

The funeral was hard, but for so many other reasons.  It was hard because I fear that it might be one of the last times our whole family gets together.  With our lives all as busy as they are... it's hard to all get together... but we did it for Grandpa.  But it was especially hard to see all the pictures of my mom.  In ALL the pictures... she was smiling like crazy.  She was ALWAYS happiest when she was with her family... so the pictures reflected that.  It was hard to be there and not have my mom there to lean on.  It was hard to see all those same people again so soon who loved my Mom.  Mom was just like Grandpa... she kept the family together. 

On the day that we got married, Grandpa was at Mom and Dad's house while I was getting ready.  I wish I had had a video camera... or a tape recorder... because Grandpa sang me a song that day.  I can't remember all the words... but it basically went along the lines of

"She's getting married, she looks pretty... I hope they hurry up before he changes his mind...."  and then he giggled.  He thought he was pretty darn funny... and so did I!

I'm sure once he got to Heaven, those women started fussing over him... getting him food.... making sure he was wearing what they thought he should be wearing....

Or just checking to make sure he was doing ok.

My Grandpa Walter is dying.  Well that's what all the doctors say.  His kidneys are failing, he has lung cancer, and his blood pressure has been dropping.  His sight is almost gone, his hearing is crap, he is trapped and isolated in this once strong body.

Obviously the doctors didn't ask GW what he thought about this dying business.  Because even though we were told it was a matter of maybe two days... he's still fighting.

But that's who he is.

He was an orphan by the age of 11, and then bounced from family member to family member.  Even with that, he managed to enroll in junior college before entering the War.

He's buried a wife, an infant son, and three grown daughters. 

He asked last night, "Why am I still here?"

I have to think he's been wondering that for awhile.

At the funeral, Aunt Darla got up to speak.

I really don't know how she held it together.. other than she IS my mother's sister.  Like Mom, Aunt Darla handles times like that with an amazing amount of dignity and grace.  Even through her own grief... she has been an incredible source of support for me. 

At the funeral... she said "Whenever you want to talk about your mom... I want to talk about her too"

And who better to talk to other my Dad and the girls than her?  Like me and the girls... she has known my Mom her whole life.  Growning up they shared a bathroom, a bedroom, and even a bed.

When I talk to her, it comforts me.  Not because she sounds like my Mom, or says the things that my Mom would have said, but because she knew her.  She loved her.  She misses her too.

When I tell her things that I would want to tell Mom... she can picture Mom's reaction and it helps me picture it too.

"Oh Sara, she would be grinning from ear to ear rubbing her hands together like crazy!"

She WOULD be.

In September I talked to the brother of a friend I had lost a long time ago.  It was the anniversary of her death, and I wanted him to know that I still thought of her too.  Selfish I know, but that's how I roll.  What he said stuck with me... and means even more now than it did back then.  He said, "sometimes I forget that my family and I are not the only ones to have lost somebody close to us."

I've tried to remember that these last months.  While not everyone lost their Mom or wife... people lost their sister, their aunt, their daughter, their grandma, their co-worker and their friend.  Their loss isn't any less than the one we had.  Their relationship was different, so their loss was different.

But they still knew her... and they loved her... and I need to continue to remember that... and I need to continue to draw from that.  Because their experiences were different, they have different memories or insights into the person she was... all things that will help me know her more. 

And so what if I cry when I talk to people.  I cry when I DON'T talk to people.  And if you shouldn't "drink" alone... I don't think you should "cry" alone either.

I'm sure Mom just threw her hands up in the air and said, "Finally!'  So it took me awhile.  I'm just a little slow at times.

I got to spend a couple of days with some great friends at a conference this week.  And in the middle of all that learning, we were able to take a quick trip to an outlet mall.  Shopping is always one of those things that makes me think of my mom.  As I'm shopping, I can easily pick out the things that I know she would have loved.  Shoes, clothes, etc.

When we went into a perfume store... I thought about my mom LOTS.  My mom wore Estee Lauder perfume for as long as I can remember... and for most of that the scent YouthDew (before switching to Pleasures becaue Dad liked the shape of the bottle). 

And as I've mentioned before she wore Ban Roll-On deodorant my entire life. 

So when I saw this... I knew she would have loved it.  And maybe they just have it in "her" heaven.

I had quite the little meltdown a little while ago.  It was silly.  And I feel pretty ridiculous, but it is what it is.

Suttie and I were on our way to Tumble Tots, so I thought it was a good opportunity to give my Dad my quick daily call.  It was 6:30 his time, well past his normal time for getting home.

He didn't answer the house phone.  Strange, sure, but no big deal, so I left him a message.

Then I tried his cell phone.  It's been the joke since he got it that he couldn't escape the three of us girls anymore...

He didn't answer that either.

I started feeling a little panicky.

I tried the house phone again.  Maybe he had just been outside.  Still no answer.

My panic started rising.

This is how is starts you see....

You try to reach them and they don't answer.

In those short minutes... I started flashing back to Karri calling and saying she couldn't get ahold of Mom.

I CAN NOT survive this again.

So trying to keep my panic in check.  And knowing there is no way in Hell I could call Karri and put her in the same situation... I called my Uncle Chad.

I (not so) casually asked if he knew if my Dad had any plans for tonight... and he didn't. 

I started crying on the phone and told him that it just freaked me out a little, which he understood.... so he offered to go check on him.  He's still mad that Dad had called Karri that night instead of him...

I hung up from him and tried Dad one more time.  By now I could hardly drive because I was crying so hard.

He answered.

I just started yelling at him. I couldn't even talk to him.  Just told him to call Uncle Chad to tell him where he was.

He had no idea of how freaked out I had been... he had just gone to dinner at my cousin's house.  He does that every Wednesday night. I knew that, and Uncle Chad remembered it right after we had hung up and called back to tell me, I just didn't get his message.

He must have walked out the door right before I started calling, and his cell phone only rang the one time... the time that he answered.

It was silly. 

I should have taken a moment, taken a deep breath and thought about it.  But in that moment.. there was no thinking rationally.  I could only think about how terrified I am now of losing my Dad. 

My whole life he's been preparing me for his early departure.  But he's got to get over that now.  He's the only parent I have left, and I need him around for a lot longer.

And I need him to get better service on his cell phone.

Sealed with Love

They started arriving one day last week, the day I attended the funeral of my friend's father to be precise.

Envelopes from all over the country... each with a number on them.

"Save the envelopes!" they said.

Number 5 came first,

Then 7 and 9...

Number 4 was a few days later.

They weren't in any "order"

They just arrived, each one with a note with just one phrase inside.  It took a day or two... but I started to understand a little about what was happening, and I once again started to look forward to getting the mail.

Once they were all here... and rearranged...these 11 envelopes....and then one beautiful picture frame... their message was easy to read if you could see through the tears.

1. A mother's love is something that no one can explain
2. It is made of deep devotion, and of sacrifice and pain
3. It is endless and unselfish and enduring come what may
4. For nothing can destroy it or take that love away...
5. It is patient and forgiving when all others are forsaking
6. And it never fails or falters even though the heart is breaking....
7. It believes beyond believing when the world around condemns
8. And it glows with all the beauty of the rarest, brightest gems...
9. It is far beyond defining, it defies all explanation
10. and it still remains a secret like the mysteries of creation...
11. A many splendoured miracle man cannot understand
12. And another wondrous evidence of God's tender guiding hand.

I think the beautiful women who wrote those notes, sealed them and then sent them my way are more evidence of God's existence! 

Meeting them was just a random thing... but without that "randomness" that wasn't so random to God... I've been able to survive the last few days, weeks, months, and years...

Signs of Spring

Yesterday was tough. 

It was one of the toughest ones I've had in a while. 

I wasn't able to race to call Mom and try to be the first one to wish her a happy birthday... though the time difference thing did usually hurt me there.  I thought about calling her phone and leaving her a voicemail... but just couldn't do it.  Yesterday I couldn't pretend that she was busy and call me back later...

I struggle.

Every single day... I struggle.

I struggle to keep it together. 

I struggle to keep my chin up

I struggle to remember...

But today... today is a new day.  

The horrible winter is almost over.

I know this... because its spring now.

The first sign of spring to some people might be the first robin of the season... or the first flower popping through the dirt.

But for our family... there's never been something that said "spring" more than the first baby calf... and of seeing what it looks like. 

There are two "calf camps" in our house.  The ones who like the all black calves (Mom, Karri, and me aka "the right ones") and those who like black calves with white faces (Dad and Lindsey aka..."the wrong ones")...

And then there have been those random years when we get a "red" one... so we always name it Jacob.  =)

Mom LOVED seeing the new babies.  She kept count of how many we had had each day... what they looked like... where they were....

She would watch out the kitchen window into the field north of the house... and would call Dad if she saw something that concerned her... she would say, "I've been watching that cow for 2 hours..."

And if watching didn't satisfy her curiosity... or if Dad was taking too long... Mom would throw on her mud boots and walk out to check on it herself.  She was there to help pull calves.. or bottle feed them if needed..

For a city girl... she did pretty well on the farm... unless you were asking her to open the "damn gate"...

Every year, just like clockwork... the babies start arriving on or very, very close to Mom's birthday.

They didn't disappoint this year either.

The night before her birthday... black calf, black face... and the day of... black calf, white face.

Spring is here... and Mom is not.

But we survived the winter... so maybe there is hope.

Things I didn't know to ask

After today's freak out of realizing that I have no idea what my mom's favorite meal was... I started thinking of all the other things that I didn't know I'd want to ask... until I couldn't.

Here are a few things that sprang to mind...

• What was her recipe for Chex Mix?  I mean I know she left out the onion powder... but what did she add instead?
• What did she want to be when she grew up?  When she was a little girl, did she dream of being a nurse or teacher or actress?  I know she wanted to be a wife and mom... but did she feel like she settled?
• What was her favorite vacation?  Was it one we went on together... or one that she and Dad got to go on alone.
• If she could have gone anywhere else.... where would it have been?  I know Hawaii was the last state she hadn't seen... but would she have picked going there over going someplace else?
• If she won a million dollars in the lottery... what would be the first thing she bought?
• How did she hold steady enough to put on liquid eyeliner?
• How did she always know just what I needed... even if I didn't?
• Where did she buy Dad's sleeveless crewneck t-shirts... because I can't find them and he's driving me crazy looking!

I'm sure there will be a million more things I need to know... a million more times that I wish I could pick up the phone.... and realize that whatever it is...I won't be able to ask her...

Woulda Shoulda Coulda--Who's laughing now?

I used to laugh at my Mom. 

Well for lots of things.... she was a goofball....

But I used to laugh at her because of her obsession with birthdays.

"Today would have been your great-grandparents 100th Wedding Anniversary!" or "Your great grandpa would have been 125 today!"

"Mom, come on!  Even if they would have lived a little longer... I don't think they would have made it to the 100th wedding anniversary!"

"Well I know that!" she would say... "but I'm thinking about them!"

So I would laugh... and she would ignore me... as she thought about those loved ones no longer with her.

Tomorrow.... We stop saying, "Mom was 63...."

We start saying, "Mom WOULD have been 64...."

She SHOULD have been 64....

I wish she COULD have been 64....

So years from now... when I'm telling the boys...."Your Grandma Cindy would have been 75...85...105... today!"  I hope she's laughing at me as much as they will be!

When little boys tell their Dads that girls are "gross..."  Their Dads nod and smile those knowing smiles...because they know....

When the underclassmen proclaim that THEY will never act the way that the upperclassmen act when they are that age.... Their teachers stand back.. smiling and nodding.  Because we know....

When young brides and grooms-to-be talk about what THEIR marriage will be like.... those who have been married for years... THEY know...

Expectant parents... those who proclaim that THEY will have delightful children who sleep through the night, and only in their own beds....children who speak French and are so polite and well behaved... Those of us sleep-deprived co-sleepers who have rotten little heathens...  We smile and nod... because we know.

When my mom pictured being there as her grandsons grew up, graduated from college... and became professional atheletes who were ballroom dancing doctors in the off-season...  When she thought of beautiful Kyleigh... walking down the aisle as a blushing bride... right before being elected our first female President...

I wonder... did God sit back and nod...and smile that knowing smile?

When we lost Mom, it was hard on a lot of my friends--those who knew her, and even those who didn't.

It was hard on my friends that knew her, because many of them had known her since we were in elementary school.  A lot of them would get Christmas cards from her, stop by her desk to say hello, or see her powerwalking on her lunch hour. 

It was hard on them because she was still a part of their life.

It was hard on my friends who didn't know her or had met her just briefly too.  It was hard for them because they love me, and because I'm part of their life.

But I think what was hardest on both groups is that it was such a shock.  I think next to the fear of losing a child, the thought of losing a parent has to be one of the scariest things we face... and something that we fear for a long long time.

My friends are mostly my age.  Meaning that their parents are close in age to my Mom.

If it can happen to my Mom... it could happen to theirs.

That's scary for them!

I remember counting down anxiously with my friend until we both turned 21.  We laughed about that earlier this month we she turned a little more than 21.  Where have the years gone?  When did we get old enough to be burying our parents?

Mom's death made many of my friends realize how fragile life can be.  The silver lining of her death is that so many of my friends have told me that they were drawn closer to their own parents. 

With the death of my friend's father.  I'm starting to realize, that more and more THIS will become the norm.  We will continue to age, our parents will too, and soon EVERYONE will have to say goodbye to their parents.

Life (and I guess death) goes on. 

Suttie stopped being Baby Suttie when Baby Owen was born.... Keegers was Baby Keegers until Suttie was born...

Mom stopped being the breaking news story when someone else's parent took over that role.  For someone who shied away from being the center of attention... I don't think Mom would have minded staying in that limelight for a little longer... if it meant that someone else didn't have to be.