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.