Worse than an ambush

My mom's outgoing voicemail sounded something like this.

Beep, then a pause, then a hurried

Thissss is Cindy Murphy.

I know this, because over the course of the last 6 1/2 years, I've probably called her phone 1000 plus times.  More in the beginning, a little less as time went on.  I could because Dad has always paid an extra $10 per month to keep her line active.  We didn't have a video camera growing up, so while we have lots of pictures, her voice isn't documented.  Having access to those 4 words has always been something I was so thankful for.

Early on, I remember playing it for the boys, and confused them thinking she was still alive.  It was brutal having to explain again that she was gone.  

Since then, the boys, and Foof too, will ask for me to call Grandma's phone so that they can hear her voice.  I've often thought that I should try to figure out a way to record her outgoing message on to my own phone.

You can guess where this is going.

Yesterday, after dropping Foof off at gymnastics, the boys asked me to call grandma's phone.  We sat in the car waiting to hear those familiar words.  Instead, we heard a man's voice say, "The person you are calling has a voicemail that has not been set up"

I called back.  Twice.  Each time getting the same unfamiliar voice.

Later, I called my dad. Through hyperventilation, I was able to explain what was going on.  He happened to be near the cell phone store so promised to go straight there.  They couldn't do anything.  He's going to take her phone back in, but we don't hold much hope out that anything can be done.  

I can't explain the devastation that I feel right now.  

The moment I first saw my mom at the funeral home, I felt like my soul had been ripped out, and I'm pretty sure it sounded that way too.  

As ridiculous as it sounds... that's how it feels right now.  I feel like I've lost my mom all over again.  Or maybe that I've lost that last piece here that I still had. 

Dad calls moments of unexpected grief "ambush moments".  That's where I'm at.  In the middle of that ambush.  

Birthdays, Preschool, and College.

The kids and I made a quick trip this Labor Day weekend to Southern Indiana to celebrate Baby Owen's 5th birthday.  The 5th birthday of a boy who was only a few months old when mom died.

This piggy backs onto the preschool open house of a girl who wasn't even a thought when mom passed.

To say Mom has been on my mind a lot lately is an understatement.  But to say she's ever very far from my mind would also be an understatement.

Driving to Southern Indiana by way of Illinois always makes me think of her.  I heard her talk of all those towns and places so much while she was alive.  She loved being from Illinois, and I think it was always "home" to her, but what got me the most on this particular trip was a feeling of empathy for her I had never felt before.  It seemed like every time I turned around we were passing some sort of college or university.  It hit me that in just a few years, my babies will be packing up and heading off to college.  These little people are going to be experiencing all of these amazing (and scary) things, and I won't be there at the end of the day to hear all about it.  

My heart is already breaking.  

My college years were some of the best of my life. 

But at the same time, our college years must have been some of the hardest of hers.  To go from being the most important person in your children's life, from knowing what they wear, what they eat, what they do every single day... to not even hearing their voice.... Boom.  

I get it now. I get why she always tried to keep me on the phone a little bit longer.  Why she held on to the hug for a little bit longer.  Why she looked so sad when we packed back up to make the drive.  Years later, when I had a family of my own, it must have been even worse for her, having these babies here so far away.

It's 10 years away before Keegers heads off to college, and I'm already dreading the hugs goodbye.  

And feeling guilty for not being more patient with Mom and holding on just as tight and as long during those hugs as she did.

Once a Mother....

Tonight's conversation with my Mom. in. my. head.

"Finally went to Quick Care.  She said I have Sinusitis and an ear infection"

"Oh my goodness.  You need to make sure you get that taken care of!  Do you remember when you were in Riley?  That girl that was in there for Sinusitis?  Her face was swollen up so much it looked like she had a baseball in her tear duct. Do you remember that? That poor girl.  You don't want to end up like that poor girl do you?"

 "No Mom, I don't want to end up like her.  I already took my prescription and got the other stuff the doctor recommended."

And that ear infection.  Do you remember me telling you about (insert some random relative of a person I'm sure I've heard her talk about but can't place for the life of me)'s ear?  Her ear actually (did some horribly obscure thing that only happens on Mystery's of the ER" 

"Well of course I don't want that to happen Mother.  That sounds horrible." 

"Did you take some Tylenol?  I have Extra Strength Tylenol.  Want me to bring you some this weekend?  Have you gargled saltwater?  You need to get that water as hot as you can stand and get the salt in it..." 

Dreams

My first clue that it was a dream should have been that I was wearing lipstick.

The second clue should have been when I entered some sort of Goblet of Fire maze on a ferry boat.

The third one should have been when it turned really violent.

But those didn't wake me up or clue me in to the fact that I was having a Craaaazy dream.

The clue that got me though was that it was Mom in the center of the maze.  In a dark, dank, bathroom putting on her own lipstick.  And doing a really poor job of it.

"You know you're dead, right?" I said to her...

"Yeah, I know.  But I didn't know if anyone else knew it." She replied.

"You have to go now" I told her... "you can't be here."



And then she was gone and I was awake.




I spent the next hour panicked.

She's visited in my dreams only a couple of times.  

What if in telling her to go, I sent her away for good.

I tried to get back to sleep, back to that place.

But the place was gone and so was she.

and now I'm left fearing she won't come back.

Promises Kept

A few Sundays ago, in the Sunday School class that James and I attend, we were talking about keeping and breaking promises.  Our lesson mirrors the lessons that the boys are hearing at the same time.  We were asked something along the lines about a time when we were younger and a promise was made and then broken and how we felt about it.

I couldn't remember a single example.  

If my parents made a promise, they kept it.

I learned it early on, so I've tried to pass it along to my own kids.

So I made them a promise, and I as much as I didn't want to... I kept it.

I held it together as much as I could.  I was choked up in the car (a fact that Keegan was kind enough to point out) but didn't have the hysterical sobs I feared.

They were curious.  They looked her stone all over, they checked out the dates and all the pictures.  We walked around for awhile.  The boys both have Murphy in their name, so they liked seeing that, and finding the other Murphys also buried there. 

It was time to go, so I turned my attention to getting Courtlynn buckled into her car seat.  I turned around to tell Suttie Joe to get in... and saw this.

My.heart.shattered.

My WORLD shattered. again.

He was telling her goodbye.  

He turned to get in the car and he was sobbing.

He doesn't even remember her.  But he can't help but be devastated by her loss.

I sobbed with him.  And told them that they could take all the time they needed to tell Grandma whatever they wanted to say.  We unbuckled, and Keegers was the first to say his private words.  

Suttie said his own prayer to Grandma, asking her to not go away again.

And Courty just wanted to take care of her brother.

There weren't as many questions as I thought there would be.  Keegan wanted to know what your heart sounds like when you are having a heart attack.  Or how the workers knew that she was dead.

Suttie wanted to know if we had to go back.

I kept my promise.

Even though it broke some hearts.

So we're going...

"Mom, can you take to me to the place where Grandma is buried?"

The tears fill my eyes immediately.

"I would really like to see it Mommy," Keegers says from the back seat.

"Me too!  I want to see it!" Courty pipes in.

"We haven't ever been there Mommy.  Have you ever been there Mommy?"

I have to compose myself before answering.  Because I don't know what to say.

I've been there once.  On an icy cold December afternoon.  When our tears fell and we put our hands on her coffin and said goodbye.  

I've stayed away.  

I've stayed away because I don't need the tangible reminder that my mom is dead.

I've stayed away because on that horrible day I convinced myself that her coffin was a magician's cabinet.  That whey they closed that lid, God allowed her to slip unseen out the back.

When Dad got the tombstone with pictures, and quotes, and high heels, and trucks, and horses, and anything else that he could stick on that hunk of stone, I stayed away.

"Don't you want to see the tombstone?" Dad asked over and over in the beginning,

"I'll see it eventually, Dad.  You can't live forever."

"I just can't Dad.  I'm not ready." 

He stopped asking.  

I've stayed away, but in doing that, I've kept them away.

I try to pull myself together.  I know that I'll fail.  Then through the tears I say, 

"Keegers, if you want to go Buddy, I can take you.  Mommy just hasn't gone because it makes me sad.  But if you want to see it, I will go."

"Mommy I don't want to see the statue where Grandma died.  It would make me too sad," my Suttie says.  

"That's fine Suttie Joe, if you don't want to go, you don't have to go."

"Maybe I do want to go Mommy," Suttie hesitantly decides.

I've stayed away because I needed to, but they don't want to stay away.  

They want to go.  Maybe they even need to go.

I'm still not ready.

I don't think I'll ever be ready.  

But they are.

and if I learned anything from my mom, it's that we take care of their needs first.

Fall again

I love the fall.  

We are back to school!  Keegers is a 2nd grader and Sutton is a very eager Kindergartner.  Both are in soccer (and I'm even coaching!  Courty is now the big girl at Mary Lou's and has personality to spare!

I love digging out the sweatshirts and fleece, going through the pants we'd packed away to see how much they've grown over summer, and I love getting back into a routine.

It's cooler and all things pumpkin are perfectly acceptable!

As much as I'm enjoying all those things...

I dread the fall.

Courtlynn and Suttie's birthdays, school pictures, visits to pumpkin patch, Halloween, Thanksgiving... those all mark the passing of time in such a concrete way.

Courty will be 3.  An entire year older than Suttie was....

Suttie is in Kindergarten... reading.  He was barely beginning to talk.

Keegan is... well Keegan.  He's still quick as a whip and going full speed.

I adore them.  I am SO thankful that I get to be their mom.  I am SO thankful for every single season I get to spend with them.

But I'm still sad.

I'm sad every single time that Keegan tells me it's "unfair that we only got a little time with Grandma Cindy!  You had a LONG time!"

I'm sad every single time Suttie says "Please take care of Gwandma"

and I'm sad every time Courty tells me "You don't HAVE a mom" or when she tells me that she's a "pretend grandma"

My anxiety skyrockets this time of year.  I get back to doing the morbid math.  The "if I die at 63.. they will be..."

But I know that's not how it works.  Mom's parents were in their 80s and 90s.  Dad's dad died at 53... and he's turning 68.  

I'm still sad.  And it's ok.