5 Words

I had to call my mom's cell phone last night.  It's been an emotional week and it had been too long since I had heard her silly outgoing message.

We were never the video taping kind of family, so my options are very limited.  I can't just pull out a video to hear her "silent laugh." I will never have a video of her goofy smile when she tried to pull one over on us....

I don't have any voicemails saved.  I didn't think I would need to. 

I have five words.

No "talk to you later Babe." 
No "I love you so muchy"
No "Oh Hell's Bells Sara Bellum"
No "Can't wait to see you!"
No "Give those babies my love"

I have five words.

"Hi. This is Cindy Murphy"

It will have to do.

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.