Earlier today, Keegers said to me, "Mommy, do you remember when Mary Lou came to our house and took me to Tumble Tots?"

We had enrolled Keegers in another round of Tumbling, and this time our sitter, Mary Lou took him since it was I was at work.  On this particular Wednesday, I had kept the boys home since Suttie was under the weather.  I didn't want to take Suttie out when he was sick, but Mary Lou didn't want Keegers to miss Tumble Tots, so that one time, and one time only, she came to get Keegers instead of me taking Keegers to her.

I DID remember it, but I was shocked that he did.  Shocked because it was the Wednesday of the week when Suttie ended up in the hospital.  A year ago, when Keegers was 2 1/2.

That one random "out of the usual" event made such an impression on him, that a year later, he still remembers it.

Having an awesome grandma was the norm for him... but I wonder if losing her will make the same stamp on his mind that the trip to Tumble Tots made for him. 

I can hope.

When I posted last time, Lindsey brought up Mom's excited squeals when she would watch the kids play baseball.  While everyone would use that time to socialize... Mom was ALL business.  She'd get her sunglasses on (to make sure she wasn't staring into the sun) and position herself on the front row so that no one was in front of her, blocking her view.  She knew where every single kid was on every single play.  She would get her arms going... not  quite sure if she should clap... cheer... climb the fence to help.... She would get screaming for them to "Run! Run! Run!" or "Oh!  Get there!"

Her excitement was immeasurable. 

Her love for those kids was immeasurable!

She took such pride in them when they did well and would be the first in line to tell them what a great job they had done.  And when they didn't win... well she was the first to point out all the positives.

I hope that as we start to try to get on with our lives, that she's right there with us.  That she's wearing her big sunglasses, her platform flip flops, and a shirt that says "Wife, Mom, Grandma." I hope that she's sitting in the front bleecher cheering us on, squealing with excitement when we do something well... and reminding us of all the positives when the game seems to go the other way.

Something else she'll miss

I just signed Keegers up for T-Ball and Soccer for this spring.

He is going to LOVE it, which means that now I'm sobbing.

When we moved here, and had the boys, I hated that Mom and Dad missed out on so much of their day to day lives, but I knew that it would be ok once they were in school.  I knew that because mom ALWAYS said she wasn't going to work until she was 80 like Thelma did....

Moving away and having kids was going to be ok.

I knew that she was going to be retiring soon... as soon as she had worked long enough to pay off her life insurance... but then she would be free.

In my head, I knew that she was going to be able to come and stay for a week or a two at at time... and attend all of the boys' school programs... see them pick dandelions on the T-ball field... be there for Grandparents' Day... and all those silly things.  She had loved going to Tumble Tots with Keegers, and I knew she was going to want to come and watch Suttie do it too.

To quote my very eloquent Dad... "God this sucks!"

I'm constantly reminded that she's not here... and that she's never going to be here again.

Everytime I start to pull myself together... I do something like this normal thing, realize that she's gone, and it makes me feel like I'm starting the grief process all over again. 

Someone said one time, "I can't imagine what losing your Mom feels like"

Want to know?

It feels like shit.

Not clear enough?

It feels like an elephant is jumping up and down on my chest, while the Hulk punches me in the face.

Clear enough?

I feel cheated.  I feel pissed.

And any parent knows that when your children are hurting, you hurt for them.  So I'm not only pissed for myself.  I'm supremely pissed for my boys.  I'm pissed for Dalton and Dylan and Ky.  I'm pissed for baby Owen... and I'm pissed for any any more babies Lindsey wants to have.

And I'm pissed for my Mom.  I know that she loved all those things.... she LOVED wearing her shirts to baseball games that said, "______'s Grandma"

And I'm pissed that I'll never get to buy her one.

We went to church today... the first time since "it" happened.  It felt good to get back.

Before the service started, James pointed out something in the bulletin.  "Hey, there's what you need."

It was information about a Grief Group that's getting ready to start in a month or so.

It took me off guard.

I came from a home where we "deal with things on our own".  Where after nearly dying and spending a month in the hospital, my dad STILL thinks I should have just gone home and taken some Tylenol.  He wanted to just put a band-aid on his finger once... and ended up having four major surgeries instead.  He also thinks that Vick's Vapor Rub can cure about anything...

I also came from a home where depression was an issue from time to time.  And while is wasn't always diagnosed, no one needed a doctor to tell them that the darkness was there.  I've battled it myself, and what I've found is that sometimes it comes on in such a subtle way... that you don't realize how much it has taken over until look up and realize that you can't remember the last time you WEREN'T sad... or DIDN'T cry.  For me... I can look back a pictures and know exactly when it was the darkest ... because I'm always heavier in those pictures. 

I am so incredibly lucky to have James with me during all of this.  He lets me cry when I need to, makes me laugh when I need to, and encourages me to get help if I need to...

I don't think it's a coincidence that I haven't fallen into the darkness since we've been together... and that even after two pregnancies... I weigh less now than when we got married.

I won't be able to attend that group, but I'm so glad that if it comes to it, and I need to seek outside help, he'll be there to support me. 

Also doesn't hurt to know that even after all these years... he thinks I'm pretty cute... no matter how happy or sad I am... or what I weigh...

Who needs meds or therapy, when you've got a guy like that?



 

The purpose of this blog is of course to write about how great my mom was.

But right now, that's just too hard for me.

I know I'll get there eventually, but right now, when I talk about how freakin (I'm sorry Mom, I know you hate that word) great she was, it just makes me that much more sad that she's not here anymore.

But I'll get there. 

And I'll use nice words. 

And I won't say "freakin" anymore. 

Because my mom didn't raise her girls to talk like that.... 

I'm sure it was that Swiss Boarding School she sent us to.

Status updates.

There are moments where I feel like my life is a walking "Status Update".  Like I survive moment to moment in a "Sara is..."

Sara is...
fine

Sara is...
crying again for no reason

Sara is...
having a panic attack

Sara is...
pretending to be fine

Sara is...
getting better

Sara is...
pretending it's a bad dream

Sara is...
having bad dreams

Sara is...
reading old emails

Sara is...
crying again

Sara is...
calling voicemail

Sara is...
learning to cope

Sara is...
not coping well

Sara is...
sad

Sara is...
tired

Sara is...
tired of being sad

I miss my Mom.

I miss knowing that I can pick up the phone and call her on my way home from school.

I miss being able to tell her about the goofy things that the boys say.

I miss her random notes in the mail with clippings from the newspaper.

I miss her voice.

I miss her smile.

I miss her smell.

I miss her love.

I miss my Mom.