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. 

Putting one in the win colum

I didn't cry on Mother's Day.  

I know that seems like a simple thing, but it's been a struggle to get through the last few Mother's Days without the bitterness taking over the sweetness of the day.

Instead I enjoyed the day with my gorgeous babies and played games and ate food that was bad for me and enjoyed the gorgeous flowers that Hubby brought me while Courty sang Happy Birthday.

I didn't cry on Mother's Day.  It's going in the win column.

20 years ago today the lives in my little high school bubble were changed. It's no different of a story than that of pretty much every high school anywhere. There was an accident, we learned that we were NOT invincible, and our childhood fell away in that moment.

Since I started teaching I've seen that same series of events happened in just about every generation of kids.

I've seen students walking the hall carefree one day, and then paid my respects at a funeral home a few days later.

I'm 20 years older, with 20 more years worth of life than that boy.  Nearly 18 more than that girl... and so on.

In that moment... it's all you can do to breathe.  If you even CAN breathe.  I remember getting those phone calls that took my breath away.

But slowly... ever so slowly your lungs begin to fill again. 

You stop drowning in your own tears and you start to move forward.

But you never really forget.

It can be a little boy who barely remembers his grandma crying at bedtime.

It can be a date on a calendar.

It can be a run with an old friend.

And you remember.  And you fight not to cry, and you remind yourself to breathe.

Because ever so slowly your lungs begin to fill again, you stop drowning, and you start moving forward.

Freezing and Fast Forwarding

Keegan is finishing up 1st grade.  A child who had not even attended Pre-School is almost a 7-year old 2nd grader.

Suttie Joe attended Kindergarten Screening this week.  A child who was just beginning to speak is now gearing up for Kindergarten. 

Courty Foo Foo is potty trained.  A child's whose heartbeat had never been heard is no longer a baby or toddler, but a little girl.

I can't help but watch them and SEE them.  I see the amazing little people they are turning into, and can see glimpses of the amazing people they will become.  They are funny and infuriating and brilliant and quick and witty and loving and infuriating... wait, did I say that already?

I know that one day... not so long ago my own mother must have watched me wondering about the person I would become.  

I wonder if as a parent you ever stop watching your children with that sense amazement and awe.  I want to be their mom for as long as I can.  I want to be able to see where they go and who they become and what THEIR babies look like and if they look at them the same way I do now.

I want to freeze time and fast forward at the same time. I want to have these moments now, but want all those moments in the future too.  Can't I have that?

3 Years Post-Mom

It's been three years.

That is so hard for me to comprehend. 

She was just here, wasn't she? 

How is it possible that our lives have gone on without her?

Not just gone on, but changed so much?

Courty's entire existence is Post-Mom.  She's now older than Suttie was when we lost Mom.

Keegan started school and learned to read Post-Mom.  He's as old as Ky was when we lost Mom.

Suttie has gone from being the baby just turning 2 to being a rebellious 5 year old preparing for Kindergarten.  Suttie still cries at night because he misses Grandma (even though I'm not sure he even really remembers her, just remembers he's sad)
 
Gavin and Ian are in high school.

Lindsey has had two babies Post-Mom.  (and those babies made her work!)

Karri became a grandma Post-Mom.

Dalton's a dad.

Dylan's thinking about colleges.

Ky isn't the only Granddaughter anymore.

Dad has gone back to work, traveled, and even babysat.  (Though he still hasn't changed a diaper, so some things never change)

So.much.has.happened.

So much.

But how could that much have happened when it still feels so fresh?

I grieve daily. 

Like Dad says, the years have flown by... it's the days that drag.

Ours lives didn't stop. 

Somehow that still feels disloyal.

The 6th Stage?

There are 5 recognized stages of grief. 

1. Denial and Isolation
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Denial and Isolation
When I first got the phone call that something was wrong, I was sure that it was just a misunderstanding.  She was in the shower, the cell reception was bad, the landline was down.  It couldn't be anything more serious than that. 

But it was.  It was the most serious thing of all, and we were stuck here.  Hours from home with no way to help, or no way to change it.  Luckily, the isolation didn't come because I had so many people to help fill the silence.  Mostly my babies.  Any mother knows, that time alone is hard to come by, and my boys were there with me.  A few months later, when I became pregnant with Foo Foo, I knew my mom was with me, and that baby helped keep me out of the dark hole I wanted to crawl into.

There are times that I'm still a bit in denial.  I'm shocked that she's not here, and that she will never be here again.

Anger
I was never mad at God.  I thought I would be, but maybe I'm just in a better place now with my faith then when I was younger.  This week, my pastor spoke on grief and reaffirmed my belief that God doesn't do this to us. I believe he's there with us, grieving with us, knows that it's going to happen, but that sometimes our earthly bodies just can't go on.

Bargaining
I wanted to know why her body gave out.  What happened to make this seemingly healthy woman just die.  Put her head back and die?  Did she stop taking her blood pressure medication?  The pills were hard for her to swallow.  Did she stop taking them because of that? What if we had gotten her smaller pills?  Would it have mattered?  She had a headache the weekend before and missed work?  What if we would have forced her to go to the doctor?  Was she in heart failure?  Could they have caught it?  But her cardiologist told Dad that even if she had been in a hospital, there was nothing they could have done to save her.  

Depression
I am still SO overwhelmingly sad about her absence.  I cried the last night of vacation because she wasn't with us.  I knew how much she was missing out on, and how much my babies were having to miss out on. I saw a therapist for a while, but I just got tired of it.  I feel like I should be "over it" or at least be a little more ok with it. 

Running became my therapy.  I do it to try to keep myself healthier, so that maybe it will be around longer for my babies, than my mom was for me.  It also helps me clear my head.  I never thought I would be addicted to it, but I can feel the tension building in me when it's been too long since a run. 

Acceptance?
I accept that she is dead.  I saw her body.  I felt my soul being torn from my body in that instant.  But I don't think accepting it will ever mean that I'm ok with it. 

But what about this other stage I'm in now?  It's not healthy, but where does it fit?  I've tried to pull myself out of it, I know it's not right but it's there and I don't know what to do about it.  For me, the sixth stage of grief is

Jealousy
I've become some sort of morbid mathematical savant.  It happens when I watch the news, read the paper (especially the obituary section), or log in to Facebook.  It usually goes something like this.

Status update:  We just celebrated Mother/Grandmother/Auntie/etcs 75th/85th/95th birthday.  Even when I am happy for them, my mind is doing the math.  Their loved one is 12/22/32 years older than my mom got to be. 

How is that fair?  Is it Anger that I'm feeling?  Because it definitely feels like Jealousy.  I'm not angry that their loved one is still here, I'm jealous that mine is not. 

It's not healthy.  It's not fair to those who are blessed to still have their loved ones here.  I know people who lost a loved one decades before who still struggle.  Is this ugly green monster my new reality?  Is this how I have to live now?  Running helps, but I don't know how many miles I have to run to get that out of my head.  Are there enough miles? 

All roads lead to...

This was my thought process this morning.

Crap. 
What am I going to wear today?
ugh.  I have nothing to wear today.
Sweater. 
I'll wear a sweater.
and pants
I should wear pants
Ok, so I'm wearing a red sweater and beige pants. 
What color of shoes should I wear?
Black.
Hey, I'm wearing red and black
NM's colors were red and black.
Ball State was red and white, with a little black
Peru was Black and Gold.
Remember that time when Mom said she couldn't get used to me wearing black and gold?

It all leads back to her.
Things she said.
Things she did.
Shoes.
Colors.
Sounds.
Smells.

Last night, Keegan asked me if I remembered when Grandma died a long time ago and we went to see her and I touched her and he wanted to touch her so I let him touch her.

Yes.  It's hard to forget.

"How old was I?" he asked. "Was I two or was I three?"

"You were three" I told him.

"How old was Suttie?"

"Suttie had just turned two"

"She died on Suttie's birthday???"

"No, not on his birthday.  Two weeks after his birthday."

"and how old was Courty?" the next question.

"Courty wasn't born yet, remember?  Grandma picked Courty out when she got to heaven"

I can't help but be a little sad about Grandma not knowing Courty here on earth.

Giggles.

Sometimes giggles lead back to her too.

The other night, when Courtlynn was sleeping next to me in my bed

because I fail at letting her cry it out and Grandma didn't like "cry it out" anyway

road back to her

I digress.

When she was sleeping next to me in my bed she started giggling in her sleep...

Road.

Eight lane, all express, paved with gold road right back to Grandma.

Because I know, that those giggles were Grandma getting her sugar.

It's been over two years now.

That fact never ceases to stop me in my tracks, make my breath catch, or make my eyes fill with tears.

We survived the holidays. 

But more than that, we enjoyed the holidays. 

That fact never ceases to stop me in my tracks, make my breath catch, or make my eyes fill with tears.

Keegan and Sutton had a rough go of it there for awhile.  One night, they sobbed uncontrollably for close to an hour because, "we miss Gwandma Cindy." Maybe they were just overly tired, or maybe they just knew what buttons to push... but it killed me. 

They still talk about her all the time, and pray every night for God to take care of her.

I'm walking a fine line.  I don't want to let them forget her, don't want to push her on them, so I'm letting them take the lead.  They will eventually change their prayers, and I think that will be a sad day for me.

We've had new life.  Her first great grandchild, and new generation of DRB, was born.  It's tragic that she's not here to be a Great Grandma in every sense of the word.

We've lost life.  My dear sweet Brodus T Wonderpup, the soul who was with her until the end, and waited with her patiently, watching over her until Karri arrived, wandered off before Christmas.  His health had been bad, his hearing gone, his poor little knees failing, but he was always the same "smiling Brodie".  I can only hope he passed as peacefully as she did.

In Sunday School a few weeks ago, they asked, "What is the hardest question someone has ever asked you?"

That answer was easy.  It's ALWAYS the questions I get about Mom

"How old is Grandma Cindy?" Keegan asked me recently.

I hate questions like that.  63?  Are we catching up to her?  Almost 66?  Do we pretend she's still aging with us?

Wish I had all the answers to give them, but I have too many of my own.

Candy Memories

"Mom?  Do you remember when we would go see Grandma Cindy at work?  She always had candy on her desk," Keegan told me recently.

"Yes Keegan.  I remember," I said.  "and when she didn't have M & Ms, she would have suckers for you"

"Yup, she did!"



I have no idea where that memory came from for him.  The last time we went to see her at work would have to have been during Summer 2010, when he was barely 3 years old.

It caught me off guard.

We had watched her "movie" a week or two before that, and the only thing that I could think of was maybe he saw the photo of her holding Baby Owen at her desk.  That was the only thing that I could think of that would have rattled it.

We talk about Grandma Cindy all the time, but it's usually me trying to put my own memories back into their heads. I had never mentioned that one. 

It was one of his own. 

Hidden in his little brain somewhere, waiting to come out.

I can't help but wonder what else he has locked in there.

Unreachable

Dad is on a cruise with my sister and two of his grandkids.  I'm SO happy that he decided to go, even if he felt a little guilty about going without Mom.  Mom wouldn't have missed out on a chance like that... to spend that quality time with some of her favorite people?  No Way!

But since he's gone into parts unknown... with cell reception unknown... I won't be able to talk to him until he gets back.

That is strange.  And not at all enjoyable.

I tend to call people when I'm in the car.  Though it's not always the best, and I managed to yell "I'm ON THE PHONE" at least 30 times per call... at least they are belted in and can't get too close to me....

So when I was on my way to the store the other night to pick up some birthday party supplies it hit me.  I couldn't call Dad.  On October 1st, 22 months from the day we lost Mom... I couldn't call Mom OR Dad.  They were both unreachable by phone...

I don't know how people do it.

For those people who have lost both of their parents, how do they live the rest of their lives knowing they can't ever call one of them again?

I do not like it.

It has me dreading the 2+ week trip he's taking this winter.

He's going to have to look into an international calling plan. 

A letter left unwritten

It was suggested to me that I write a letter to my Mom to help me deal with my grief.  But what would I say in a letter like that? 

Would I ask her if she loved us?  Would I ask her if she was proud of us?  Would I ask her if she missed us?

No. 

That would be a waste of ink.  Because I know the answers to those questions.  She adored us.  But more than that, she liked us.  She was proud of us as mothers and sisters and friends.  She missed us when we left the room... left the house... or the state.  So being away from us like this... without a doubt she misses us.
 
So what would I say in a letter like that?

Maybe I would say that the thought of Courtlynn turning one next week... the thought that my baby has lived her entire life in a world without my mom... that my mom hasn't been here for one single breath that she's taken... that she will only know Grandma Cindy through pictures and stories...is nothing less than tragic.

The thought that when Suttie Joe turns 4 in November.. that he will have lived more of his life without her than he did with her... that he forgets her voice and smell....horrific

That Keegan started Kindergarten and will learn to read and write and never be able to read a birthday card that she picked out for him....unjust.

So how would a letter like that help me with my grief?  The thought of even sitting down to write a letter like that makes me sob.  Not for myself... but for them.

If grief the same thing as overwhelming sadness?  Because my grief is just that.  Overwhelming sadness for all of our babies...and all of their babies.... because the world they live in isn't as good as it should be.

I haven't written.

This is true.

But what is also true is that I haven't forgotten, healed, or stopped grieving.

I'm working.

I'm working on being a better wife, mother, and friend.

I'm working on making sure I stay as healthy as I can so that I'm around for as long as possible.

I'm working on asking for help when I need it.

I'm working on patience.

I'm working on acceptance.

I haven't written because sometimes it's just too hard to think about it and her.  I'm working on being able to think about it... and her... without it being so hard.

If she weren't already there..

The first picture of all ten of her doll babies

being here, with all of them, would have been her Heaven. 

The story of my birth...

Keegan turning 5 has been SO emotional for me.  I know with 5 comes a whole new chapter in his life, and as much as I want to let him storm ahead into those new experiences... part of me just wants to hold him a little longer.

Just as I'm sure my Mom always wanted to do with me.

I can look back now and see those moments that she was trying to hold on... that I was trying to get her to let go...

Part (most) of me just wants to let her hold me a little longer....

But what is done... or not done... is done.. or NOT done.

Now about this birth of mine...

I've given birth to three adorable babies... I can rattle off their time of birth... birth weight... length... what the labor was like... who was there... what I was thinking... which way the room was facing...

all.of.it.

Every year on their birthday, I write the kids a letter for their baby books, and I can sit there and think of the day like it was yesterday.

I'm sure Mom could too.  But she never wrote me a letter.

What do I know?

I know that when Mom had Karri, her water broke (while she was sitting crossed legged on the floor) 10 days before she was born, 3 months before she was due... they sent her home and put 2 x 4s under her bed.  I know that after Karri was born, Mom didn't get to hold her until she was 3 months old, could only pass a finger through the hole to touch her.

I know that Lindsey was born in a blizzard.  Had the hospital been much further away, she would have been born IN the car.  When they got to the hospital, they didn't want to let Dad into the delivery room, and when he finally "convinced" them to let him in... they put him in a room with a woman whose feet he didn't recognize.

But what about me? 

What I knew about my own "blessed event" was pretty scarce.  I knew that when she found out she was pregnant, my mother (the wife of a cattle farmer) had her due date predicted by my father, by pulling out his chart for cattle breeding. April 8th.  I knew that she never weighed more than 135 pounds the entire time she was pregnant with any of us... but that was about it.

So last night, on the eve of Keegan's 5th birthday, I called my Dad to find out what he knew.

He can tell me how much he paid for lunch at a hotel in 1978, so I had a little hope, and he was able to give me a least a little of the story.

I wonder if he knew that I was crying when he was telling me.

They went to the hospital about 8 pm on the 7th.  Dad claims that I was the first baby born at Dukes to let the dad be in there.  When midnight came around and I hadn't been born yet... Mom was pissed.... though I think that might have more to do with knowing that Dad and his cow chart were going to be right...I was born just after midnight.  On the birth certificate they had started to write Wednesday and just crossed it out and wrote Thursday.  She got the chills really bad and chilled all night... I bet it was because I wasn't snuggling with her any more.

They named me Sara because (according to mom) it was on a western on tv and was easy to spell, not because it was on the bathroom wall (according to dad).

Is it everything?  No.  I'm sure she could have told me much more.

I wish she could still write me that letter.