Just Can't Say No

My mom was not good at saying, "no" to people. Oh she had gotten a little better over the years, but she still tried to do a lot. I like to think that I do say "no" more often than she did, but now I realize I don't. I'm a sucker for a fun project and I feel bad not helping someone out. No wonder she was so stressed. No wonder I am so stressed. I am always behind and my house is always a mess...that sounds familiar too. Maybe I'll never learn...

Impossible Expectations

I think my mom always put too much on herself at the holidays, but I understand, because I'm doing it too. And on top of my own list of to dos, I feel like I have to fill her shoes in some respects as well. My close family have been telling me not to do too much and I don't have to be Mom, but I feel like if I don't do such and such, then who will? Now I'm exhausted, sick and stressed. I want to enjoy this season and instead I'm just trying to get through it. I seem to feel obligated to do everything and yet so many things I don't have a choice about. How do I make it all simple? Isn't that what Mom was trying to figure out for the past who knows how many years? She never did figure it out. How am I supposed to?

On top of the stress and sickness is also the sadness. As I attempt to plow my way through each day I find myself alternating among, stress and anxiety, comfort and joy and tears of grief. The other night my eldest said she couldn't remember what Nana looked like anymore and it about broke my heart. I whipped out a photo album lickity split, but I wanted to weep that this day had finally come.

Acknowledging Mom's Sacrifice

I never fully understood just how much work a mother does, just how much of herself, her time, etc she gives up for her children until I had kids of my own. It saddens me that just as I was really starting to understand my mother better than I ever had before, just as we were really becoming best friends because we finally understood each other - she was taken from me.

I have missed my mom and appreciated just how much she did for all of us, especially the past couple of weeks. This weekend, especially has been miserable for me as I came down with a nasty cold complete with sore throat, head ache, congestion and body aches. I spent most of yesterday either in bed or on the futon staring aimlessly at Christmas Television specials, a tribute to just how bad I was feeling. Usually when I'm sick I like to indulge my passion for reading, but my head has hurt so badly and my eyes have stung so much that the only thing I was able to force my way through was a chapter in the Bible and a short chapter in a prayer book. Today I felt awful too, missing church AGAIN as well as my oldest daughter's singing debut at the Christmas Singing program tonight at church. Despite my misery I still went to my Dad's and helped decorate a tree, baked a cake and corn pudding for my grandfather's birthday tomorrow, fed my son and got him to bed, collected, sorted and started laundry and did all of the dishes for the past two days. It's insane that I would push myself to do all of that when I feel so yucky, horrible, but my family needs me. What else was I to do?

It isn't just the being sick though, it's the craziness of the holidays. First it was Thanksgiving dinner. Now it is wrapping gifts, getting teach gifts together, sending Christmas cards and baking about a zillion cookies. I've already made 4 kinds and somehow I need to make two more large batches for a school Christmas party and Women's Christmas evening, both of them on Wednesday. Oh and did I mention we're going to be gone all day Tuesday? How did my mother do it all?

Okay, she didn't do it all. She often paid extra shipping to get packages to out of town family on time. She usually had me helping with cookies and one year the sugar cookies didn't get iced until New Years when she gave the task to my brother and sister-in-law (then his girlfriend), a scary prospect considering most of the little cookie people ended up with huge red cinnamon eyes. Mom's presents were never under the tree until Christmas morning. She stayed up half the night on Christmas eve, wrapping gifts and doing stockings and even then half her gifts didn't have tags. She got to the point where she threw most things in a bag because it was faster, easier and she could peek under the tissue paper if she forgot what the gift was or who it was for!

But despite her inability to provide all the Christmas amenities in a perfect manner, she had what really mattered...a loving heart, a listening ear, a giving spirit. She was always finding ways to help people who needed it during the holidays. She knew that the real meaning of Christmas was not about tinsel or parties or gifts or cookies or gourmet meals, but about a tiny baby born in Bethlehem who came to save us all. She lived her life, giving and sacrificing in joy and gratefulness for what her saviour had done for her. I can only hope to achieve her level of sacrifice some far distant day in the future. So thanks, Mom, thanks for everything. I miss you and I love you and Christmas is so much harder without you, but I won't forget the things you taught me and hopefully they will make my Christmas season a little easier this year.

Holiday Blues

This year's holiday season is a lot harder than I expected. I know that the first holidays after losing a loved one are supposed to be difficult, but because of the extremely difficult circumstances last year, I expected it be different. I was so wrong. Last year I didn't do a lot of usual traditions or activities. I was just trying to get by. I didn't even want to celebrate Christmas. I honestly wanted to skip it. I also had a new baby, which tends to slow one down. This year I am trying to do all of the usual activities and it's killing me emotionally. I pull out decorations, I cry. I listen to Christmas music, I cry. I do anything related to Christmas traditions, I cry. Sometimes I don't cry. Sometimes I decide that it's an inappropriate time or place or I don't want to upset my kids and I shove it down inside. Later it comes back out as anger. I've been so ridiculously angry lately. It's resulted in impatience, angry words etc. It has not been a good couple of weeks and I still have so far to go to get through the season. I feel so frustrated and angry at myself. I want to be better. I want to be full of joy and peace and patience and kindness. I want my kids to be able to enjoy the season, not to have to live with a psycho-emotional mom who is doing a crappy job of parenting at the moment.

I'm tired. I'm sad. I'm lonely. I'm discouraged. Fighting the battles of life is never easy, but this year I feel like I've been forced to fight more than my share. Sometimes it seems however long and hard I pray, I hear nothing. I wonder if anyone else is feeling that way this season.

Luke's First Birthday

Happy first birthday to my amazing son. He arrived at the most difficult time in my life and motivated me in so many ways to keep going and keep taking care of myself. I am so thankful for him. I still can't believe a whole year has gone by. At the time of his birth we seemed frozen in a living nightmare. I still can't believe that his Nana wasn't here to watch him turn one, see him crawl around chasing balloons, watch him open gifts and spread tissue paper, laugh at him eating cake. It's an ache that will never really go away, though it does lessen. Significant dates eventually become less painful and we create new traditions and new ways of doing things. So here's to another year every bit as precious, but hopefully not as hard.

Did Job Get More?

I won't deny that there have been several times when I felt exactly like Job - except for the sores on the body part. Although, if you want to get technical, there are immense physical aches and pains that accompany extreme levels of emotional trauma.

I reread the end of Job again tonight because a family member reminded me of Job's story today. Job suffered unspeakable misery and trials. He came out of it and was later immensely blessed by the Lord. I'll admit that I sometimes, no frequently, really wonder if the Lord wants to or intends to bless me and my family. I know that I do have a lot to be thankful for in a time when many people are wanting but still, is anyone really going to argue that we've suffered one of those horrible tragedies that people normally only read about? The thing I was told today was that even though God blessed Job more than he had before his troubles, he did not restore to him what he had lost. Job did not get his dead children back.

I am not going to get my mom back. Will God still bless me? I hope so. Will he bless me more than before? As someone who is struggling with many complications in life and has been for a few years, I certainly hope so, but I don't know that my faith is strong enough yet to hope for that.

Thankfulness

I made it through today. I cooked most of Thanksgiving dinner, acted as hostess, made homemade lump-free gravy and cleaned up from the huge dinner all without my mom...but I missed her to pieces.

I've had a lot to be thankful for lately. A book party I hosted provided a bunch of free books that I can use for Christmas and birthday presents for my children. While we were sick with a nasty virus we had three meals provided for us and a small grocery run. Despite the potential for being overwhelmed by this holiday, I made it through relatively unscathed. I am so thankful for that. Now on to the Luke's first birthday...

Yes, it was a tough week

I could lie and pretend it wasn't a tough week, but what's the point? The redeeming fact was that the anniversary of the day after the accident, the 29th (aka the anniversary of the worst day of my life), was amazingly peaceful. Some of it could have been that I was prepared for it to be difficult and so when things went well that day it seemed like a bonus. However, I honestly believe that I was so surrounded by prayer that day that I was able to have the best day of my week. The grace of God was clearly at work. The rest of the week, well, it could have been better and the weekend was a disaster, little sleep, frustration, irrational anger, tears...

But to those who prayed and who have been praying, thank you.

1 year

You didn't think I wouldn't post today, did you? Of course I am. I gave my testimony at the Women's' Retreat on Saturday and it actually went really well...part of the healing process I think. I also knew that I had the support and prayers of many behind me.

But that was then and today is today. The memories have flooded back over the past 24 hours and I'm sure will continue to do so over the next few days. I suppose I should tell the story - it's out now that I talked about it on Saturday - but I'm not really up for it tonight. Maybe I'll write it out tomorrow, maybe another day. But it has been one year since I last saw my mom alive and vibrant, talked to her, hugged her, enjoyed time with her. She may have died in May but I lost her an year ago tonight. I just hope I don't hear any sirens tonight (we live near the fire station) because if I do I'm sure to have nightmares.

People have been kind. I've received notes and e-mails as well as words of encouragement in person. People received my testimony so kindly and have been sensitive to the tough anniversary that this is. If you are one of those people, thank you.

I didn't do as much as I should have today. I thought tomorrow would be harder, but today was surprisingly difficult. Tomorrow I have no great aspirations. I have someone bringing us breakfast and I plan to read, sleep, cry, eat or whatever I need to do. Do I sound pathetic? I call it coping and I think I'm allowed to be that way for a day. I still have to care for my children so I won't be a completely unproductive member of society. I just need to be able to chill.

The Next Two Weeks

The next two weeks are going to be difficult. Saturday evening I'm giving my testimony at the women's Retreat. Sunday is the one year anniversary of my grandfather's death. The 28th is the anniversary of the accident and the 29th is the anniversary of the worst day of my life. November 1st is my brother's 1st wedding anniversary. I'm trying to plan good things and come up with ways to make it easier, but I am really dreading it all.

Today I bought flower bulbs to plant at the cemetery. It would have been fun if not for the reason I was doing the purchasing. The girls enjoyed the myriads of flower photos next to their bins of bulbs. On Thursday I have to plant them. That is going to be harder. I would have never done that sort of thing without my mom. Hopefully I'm going to have some help that afternoon.

Fighting Discontent

Lately I've found myself thinking back to where I was a year ago and I recall all the difficulties we were experiencing. Back then everything seemed so darn frustrating and while we certainly had a number of weighty concerns on our plate, they were of course nothing compared to the life-changing traumatic event that was to soon take place. Back then I think I was very petty, very bitter, very angry, moreover -very discontent.

I wish I could say that life's weighty experiences have taught me to be completely transformed, but I'm not there. While I've certainly tasted hard lessons in thankfulness, grace and God's provision, I still find myself sliding into that uneasy feeling of being unhappy with how things are happening and where we are going. The temptation is to blame it all on grief, sadness and loss, excusing my feelings as being both legitimate and allowable. While they certainly are legit, however, my feelings of brokenheartedness of even disappointment in God are not an excuse for sliding back into feelings of self-pity, anger and frustration at how things are not going according to my desired life plan. I suppose it shows some improvement that I can recognize all of this in myself, but it doesn't seem to make finding contentedness and peace any easier.

So often I find myself bemoaning the piles of stuff we own and longing to simplify. I think there is a lot to be said for not allowing our possessions to own us and finding joy in the little things. I' trying to do that, but it isn't easy, especially when so many previously mundane items now have extreme sentimentality tied up in them because of the relationship to my mother. It is going to take me a long time to be able to "let go" of certain things, especially those that are being newly discovered and delivered to my door via my father on a somewhat haphazard, but regular basis. In the meantime I am fighting really hard to be grateful for what I have, rejoice in little things and savor the happy moments I experience.

Waiting for Retrospection

The problem with living in the wake of a major life tragedy is that even if you want to "get over the hump" so to speak it doesn't just happen. I really want to get to the other side of this emotional and spiritual desert where I may not have complete understanding of the whys but at least I can see how God may have used some aspect of everything for good. But you can't rush these things, and that has been a huge frustration to me. I don't want to be stuck in a spiritual desert. I want to be in green pastures giving a powerful testimony to people around me. Unfortunately the time line is not my own, it's God's.

This week I finally found some encouragement in the midst of this particular frustration. Five and half years ago after having some minor trouble getting pregnant I had an ectopic pregnancy and ended up not only losing the baby but possibly the chance of ever having my own children. During that time I was struggling with anger, frustration and a profound grief. I didn't understand why God would not only take away my tiny unborn baby, but also my chance to ever be a mother. As you know if you know me, God was ultimately sovereign and today I have three beautiful children, all amazing miracles in my opinion. At the time I couldn't see how God could possibly bring anything good out of the situation, but in fact he did. I can't say how many friends and acquaintances I have been able to talk to, empathize with and comfort in regards to pregnancy loss and infertility. In fact, in the past week and half I've had conversations with or written to two people on these subjects. God has given me a testimony and the ability to use something very sad and difficult in my own life to help others. It is this that gives me hope that some day I'll be able to use all of the horrible experiences of the past year to give testimony and help others.

The Family Curse...

...is not sleeping. It's 5:45 in the morning and I finally gave up. I've been awake since 4:30 when my2 1/2 year old, who was sleeping on the floor of our room due to nightmares, rolled under the bed and woke me up crying with, "Mommy, I'm stuck!" She went back to sleep, I did not.

I wish I could blame the accident etc for my lack of sleep and while it does contribute to the problem, it isn't solely to blame. My family genetics seem to have a mutant gene when it comes to sleep. I'm a light sleeper and when I'm forced to get out of bed during the night, it's a toss up whether I'll be so exhausted I'll crash again or if my brain will engage and start racing all over the place in a haphazard and dizzying fashion. It is maddening to be awake for no reason when I'm already so tired so much of the time and it only serves to undermine my patience, my ability to function and my emotional well-being.

This is a good time though. While I may have tossed and turned restlessly for over an hour I didn't work myself into a panic, experience flashbacks or start crying. My head aches fiercely, but lately that's been happening a lot. I don't know if my lack of "freaking" is a result of time and healing or just that my general lack of sleep (dues mainly to kids and trying to accomplish too much) has dulled my brain to the point where it is limited in it's ability to go into overdrive. Either way I'm at least grateful for that.

Finding A New Normal

There are many things that people ask me that my reply to is...later, after we find a new normal. I suppose that is impossible in a way. What is "normal" in our lives is constantly changing. We are in flux as our children grow, friends come and go, seasons change, we get older. I guess my best argument then would have to be that I need to reestablish my life, who I am, my relationship with God and our time/energy/emotions as a family without my mom being present in all of it.

Those of you who read this blog may be under the impression that I am miserable all of the time, but that isn't true. I am sad, yes, a lot, discouraged, angry at times, and sometimes I feel very lonely and dark. I am trying to push through it though, to move on and to enjoy life. Part of that is finding things to do, ways to push myself towards happiness, holiness and healing.

This year my oldest is in preschool. That means that three mornings a week I attempt to be out the door at 7:45 am with all three children and myself dressed and fed...HA! If I'm going to be out all morning I somehow make it happen, if not, well, let's just say this morning that only 1 1/2 of my kids were dressed. (Cassie had her shirt on top and pj's on bottom!) I think that getting out of my house helps me though. I'm also involved in Tuesday Morning Women's Bible Study at church, for which I've even agreed to lead a small group, a) because no one else wanted to, b) I thought is would be a good thing to help me grow right now and c) Admitting that I have no idea what I am doing and don't have any answers automatically qualifies me, right? Being on the Nursery committee, especially now when we no longer have a paid nursery director, is also giving me something to channel my energy into. Add occasional play dates, errands, trying to keep my house clean (HA again, I hate cleaning and organizing), and even having people over for dinner occasionally and I can at least say I'm trying to move on and live life. It isn't always easy, but I'm trying to keep busy, keep moving, and keep living my life with as much joy as I can muster.

Where is Peace?

I'm realizing that my life has taken on certain patterns- restlessness, fatigue, a feeling of needing to belong, to latch on to something of meaning, the endless pursuit of mindless distractions to try and drive the demons away. I lack peace. There is only one place peace comes from and that is Christ, but right now he is so far off. I feel like I am wandering through a mindless void where each day is a pursuit to fill the void. Again, stupid of me, only God can fill that void. But if God doesn't appear to be anywhere near, how can He fill it?

I'm tired, my mind is numb. I don't have the energy to fight anymore, to question, to shake my fists at the heavens. Instead an apathy has taken over my mind, my heart and my limbs. I'm tired of making an effort to understand, to find spiritual peace and understanding. I want to give up, stop walking and sit down. Or at the very least I want someone to come walking along, to help me up, and to help me as I stumble through the darkness. I want a guide, a mentor, an advisor, someone older and wiser to tell me that God is still there, that life won't always seem so tedious and then to stay with me until the horizon brightens. Hmm, seems ironic that my mom did that for me so many times and I didn't even realize it at the time. Now at the darkest time, in the biggest test, she's gone.

I'm tired of feeling this way, tired of living this way, tired of playing the hypocrite. I'm tired of living with two faces, the public, "Oh I'm muddling along" face and the private"I'm living in a dark, meaningless void" face. It's a shame that we feel the need to put our best foot forward, to pretend that we are some sort of spiritual giants, emotional champs, courageous warriors...when in fact we aren't. We're just broken, sad, sinful people...at least I am.

"What to say?" and "Why Now?"

Last night we attended my daughter's preschool picnic. At the event we ran into someone my husband used to work with, but whom he hadn't seen in at least a couple of years. He asked us how we were doing...I for one didn't know what to say. I think I said we were fine or some other benign answer. This brings up the difficult question that I have had to wrestle with, just how much do I tell people and how much do they really want to know? In reality I should have answered, "Gee, actually not so well. We've had the worst year of our lives and are still reeling from the trauma of everything that happened." - But we just can't tell people that, especially if we haven't been in contact and they didn't know my mother personally. I hate being deceptive but at the same time, it really isn't appropriate to spill our tales of woe to someone like that. I hate it though, pretending like nothing unusual has happened in the past year when, in fact, my world was torn apart.

Another incident happened today that left me saying, "why now, God? What sick joke are you playing on me?" For years my mom watched a couple of local roas where small turtles were known to cross, hoping to catch one trying to cross the road so she could rescue it and put it in a tank for my brother as a pet. (Laws in this state prevent buying small turtles by anyone other than those with a scientific affiliation.) She never found a live one. Guess what I found crossing one of those very roads and rescued today...yep, a turtle. He wasn't teeny tiny, but he was small and no, I did not keep him, I merely carried him (or her) to safety. The whole incident had me thinking, "why now?"

No Testimony

I was recently asked if I was interested in giving my testimony to a group pf women in a few weeks. There was no pressure and the invitation was issued with love and understanding if I was still processing and not ready. I thought about it long and hard. I really want to give my testimony. I want to have something beautiful and joyous to take out of this horrendous tragedy I've lived through. I want to touch others with my own suffering. But as much as I want all this, I am just not there yet.

When we are in the crucible being refined, we cannot see the other side, the purpose or at least the peace. We have to wait until we are out of the flame. I think it is safe to say that I no longer reside in the flaming crucible any more, but neither am I lying in green pastures. As I thought about it I realized that for me at least there was the fire and there willhopefully some day be green pastures (or at least a small patch of greenery) and in between those two things is a long expanse of desert. The desert isn't nearly as painful as the fire, but it is much longer. Right now I am wandering around in my personal desert trying to make sense of life, trying to find my way to some sort of oasis, to no avail. I don't know how long I am meant to wander here but it is very lonely and empty. I feel abandoned and left to fend for myself, unsure of the way and unsure where God went.

As a Christian I have been taught for many years now that Christ is out sure foundation. He is the rock upon which we should build our lives. When we have a solid foundation we can be shaken but not destroyed. Well, it's true. My foundation has held, but it's the only thing left. It's as if everything build on top of it has been washed or burned away and all that's left arew those pillar stones. I would be nothing without them and so I am thankful for them, for Christ. Still, I have no idea how to rebuild, no idea where to even begin in reconstructing that which should reside above the foundation. Perhaps that is God's job, but thus far the stones look bare to me.

Some Joy - Finally!

It's been a tough summer, probably the hardest summer of my life. Mercifully I've ended this difficult season with a fun, relaxing and joyous weekend. My college roommate got married today and I flew out to be in the wedding this weekend. I had to bring my 9-month old son, but the awesome and amazing parents of one of my best friends have been here and have played grandparents to him, enabling me to have the most relaxing time in a long while.

There have definitely been difficult and emotional moments for me tied in with the fun and joy, but I've made it through this weekend with far more happy moments than sad ones. Time with three of my best friends has been very healing. Standing up front in church today for the wedding, watching one of my best friends marry the guy she's madly in love with was a sort of balm to my crippled soul. It was a refreshing experience to remember that the world is full of more than tragedy and sadness. There is love, joy and happiness as well. Thanks, Sarah and Paul for giving me an opportunity to hope again.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Happy 56th Birthday, Mom. We miss you...

Treasures

On my birthday a family friend found a box of photo albums and scrapbooks belonging to my mom. I have been working my way through them and they appear to be from her childhood, college years and young married years before she had kids. There are things like spelling papers and report cards, artwork and awards, her National Honors Society Certificate. There are lots of newspaper articles, one very bizarre collage and a few cards and letters. My favorite things, though are the photos. There are some priceless pictures of her from babyhood to young adult and I have already started scanning some of them. Some of my favorites include a family photo at my great grandparents' 50th Wedding Anniversary, a very old photo of my Grandaddy in uniform from his time in the navy (1940s) and a portrait of my mom at 16. She looks gorgeous.

There is something innately comforting about sifting through these precious pieces of paper and pictures that makes me feel more connected to my mom. Although it makes me sad that I can't share the experience with my mom, it is still something precious for me to cling to in my sorrow. It's amazing how desperately one begins to cling to one's heritage when you are suddenly faced with losing large chunks of it.

This is another photo I like taken in

August of 1974, of the staff at Country Lake Camp, a children's summer camp run my grandparents. Appearing here are my Nana and Grandaddy, my mom, my dad, my aunt, my uncle and another "aunt" aka family friend. It was taken the month before my parents got married.

Last Year on this day...

I miss her so much...

The Little Child Inside

When I was a little kid my parents would go away sometimes for a week or ten days or even a long weekend. The time away was good and important for them, but I hated it. I missed my mom so much I would cry myself to sleep every night. Every day seemed to drag on and time seemed to slow down. I just wanted her to come home and make me feel loved and safe again.

I turn 28 tomorrow, no longer a little child, but I still have those same feelings sometimes. I want to curl up and cry each night and beg my mom to come home and be here for me again. Then a week seemed like an eternity. How much worse now is an entire lifetime to endure.

It's funny how time plays tricks on us. You blink and so much seems to have passed and yet other days, other weeks feel like an eternity. October 29, 2008 felt like the longest day of my life. Though it physically possessed the same 24 hours as any other day, emotionally and psychologically I experienced that day much, much longer than most others in my life. Similarly the week that followed seemed like months, an entire lifetime as I was overly aware of every passing minute. It makes me wonder about heaven, about eternity. If I am able to grasp how time can be different in two separate days, perhaps I can understand, if only a little, how God works outside of time. Small comfort, unfortunately, I'm still the small child crying inside for her mommy.

Birthday Blues

I know that each milestone after a death or a tragedy is difficult. Every holiday or "first"without the loved one in a painful reminder of that loss. I know that in my head, but it doesn't make it any easier. Thursday is my birthday and I know it is going to be incredibly painful. My mom was one of those people who made birthdays really special. She went over the top to make sure that you received as many of the gifts you wanted plus extras, a fantastic birthday dinner of your favorite foods and a cake of your choice. Last year she had a friend pick up Cheesecake Factory Cheesecake from Costco because that's what I really wanted. She was thoughtful like that, eager to please because she loved to bring joy to those she loved.

This year my birthday falls on a Thursday, the same day of the week that I was born. Unfortunately it's a work day and that means the little celebration we will have won't be until the evening. My dad is grilling me steaks with sides, my husband is supposed to pick up a dessert. I'll probably get a couple gifts and I'm sure my dad will have an excellent bottle of wine or two which will hopefully help numb the awful hole in my heart. The rest of the day will be harder, though. There's nothing like a long day to contemplate what you're missing.

I did get a little surprise party from my brother and sister-in-law when we visited and that meant a lot. My sister-in-law seems to have a knack for surprises and cheering people up and her efforts, while unable to replace my mom were thoughtful, special and comforting.

As a child one is often disappointed when one doesn't receive the perfect gift for birthday or Christmas, but it's a disappointment easily forgotten, easily soothed. It passes you by after a while. All I want for my birthday (Okay I do want a new camera but it's a far second) is my mom back and it's the one thing I can't have...not now, not next year, not any time on earth. The worst part is that the one thing I can't have cannot be forgotten because she is the one person who could make me forget what I wanted...the endless cycle of wanting and not having. It's a confusing blur or reasoning and grief.

The Idiot Jerk who added to my nightmares

We arrived home from our long road trip in the wee hours last night. There is a lot to process, but for now all I'll say is the hardest part of the trip occurred only a couple hours from home. Around one in the morning Chris was driving and spotted a drunk driver speeding along behind us. He got as far away from the truck as soon as he spotted it and then we observed it for a couple minutes. I don't know if I've ever seen a drunk driver before or not. I've seen some pretty stupid drivers in my time but as dumb as they were and as angry as they made me I was never as fearful as I was of this driver. He sped up and slowed down for no apparent reason, couldn't stay between the lines and pulled sharply in and out of lines in a frightening way, often switching from an empty lane to one with a car just ahead. He almost hit other cars at least twice. We called 911 and reported it and then we made sure to hang back where we couldn't be hit. A couple minutes later he went to take the exit and there was momentary frustration at the thought of him getting away followed by the inevitable accident. I think somehow I knew it was going to happen. He drifted right into the guard rail sheering the right side of his truck. We called 911 for the second time in five minutes, but kept on driving. It didn't look like a serious accident and we did not want to mess with that guy. If he's lucky he'll just need some body work, a new mirror and a paint job...not that he'll be driving any time soon assuming they apprehended him. We saw the cops headed for the accident minutes later and can only hope the idiot didn't try to drive off in his banged up truck.

Yes, I hate drunk drivers and this incident was frightening and anger inducing. The hardest part though was the sound of the accident. Even from 4 lanes over and a little ways back with all the noise of the highway I still heard the horrible grating noise of metal on metal, a sound which makes me want to scream and then be sick. To think about the accident the changed my life was inevitable. We were thankful that we weren't hurt by the idiot. We were also thankful that he didn't hit another car. Still, another nerve-wracking scene I didn't need with a noise to haunt my waking and sleeping was not what I needed.

The Perils of Night

I just looked up at the calendar and saw that it has been exactly 2 months since my mom died, 9 since the accident. Has it really been that long? What took only seconds to shatter my world will now take weeks, months, years to recover from. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever feel normal again.

I know, I'm not the only person to lose a parent. I get that, but this was worse than death plus death, all wrapped into one big, ugly package. People don't know, they don't understand the ramifications of the emotional trauma, the weight of my thoughts, actions, decisions, hopes, fears etc. Nine months out and I still have flashbacks, moments of panic, times when I feel paralyzed. I don't sleep well, none of us do. I stay up too late because if I go to bed before I'm absolutely exhausted, I'll lie in bed, my mind will start remembering things and I'll freak out.

Speaking of freaking, I feel like a freak myself. I'm pretty sure none of you would call me one to my face but I'm downright paranoid that it's what people would think if you all knew...knew that I suffer from anxiety and likely mini panic attacks. I wasn't even in the car and yet somehow that doesn't seem to have made the difference. Irrational worries and fears, they used to be something to joke about, but not any more.

I miss my mom. Sometimes I miss her so badly it feels like I'm being ripped apart. I feel sad and angry and desperate all at the same time. I want to bargain with God, "Please, please, PLEASE give her back! I just want my mom back!" I'm dealing with some tricky situations, some issues that I don't know how to handle and I need her advice. I keep wondering what she would do and then wonder again whether she'd advise me to do what I think she'd do or whether she'd think I should do something different. Confused yet? Try being me. No one can replace my mom no matter how loving or kind or wise he or she is. No one can give her advice.

We're leaving in two days to drive halfway across the country again for a wedding. Hmm, sounds strangely familiar and yes, it's the same route we took before, we're just going a little further...same towns, same roads, same rest stops. The girls will use the same lap boards and DVD player bought by my mom for that last trip. Do you see where this is going? I can't even think about it for very long without my heart rate increasing and my body starting to feel shaky.

Shaky, a good word to describe me right now. Oh I put up a good facade, an excellent facade really. I am in control, meaning I am plowing through the pain and fear and I don't let everything control me and my life so that I can't function. It's still there though, very real...panic, nightmares, rapid hear rate, trouble breathing...and sometimes it's something random that sets me off. The other night I tried to watch a very graphic (realistic) movie. It comes highly recommended and even won and award, but I couldn't handle it. I freaked out..yes, really freaked out complete with shallow breathing, accelerated heart rate and tears and didn't know why it was happening. It was brutal, scary and utterly humiliating. After my husband got me calmed down (and turned off the movie) it took me another few hours before I could settle down enough to sleep. I kept waiting for him to act repulsed or at least weirded out by it all, but he didn't. He's not like that. Do you think less of me now, Reader? I wonder. Maybe I should lie or at least not be so brutally honest, but then what would be the point of this blog?

A Hard Week

The Fourth of July weekend ended up being a lot harder than I thought it would be. For our family it has always been so steeped in tradition that having my mom missing seemed painfully obvious, especially as the one trying to fill her shoes in so many ways. I made it through okay, but it hurt and this past week I have been grieving harder than I have in a while. The smallest things have brought a tightness to my chest or made me burst into tears.

We're going back to the lake for a long weekend starting Wednesday night and I hope it will be good for all of us. I want to buy some annuals to plant where my mom always did so the rock-ringed beds don't look so empty. It also makes me feel better knowing my dad won't be alone. I have a harder time when I know he's away and by himself...after all, anyone who has an affinity for the adventures he's encountered could find who knows what sort of situation to get tangled in...thank goodness he's such a good sailor in that sailboat of his!

As I said before, a hard week. Sometimes I feel paralyzed and unable to do anything. Sometimes I'm driven to frenzied activity. Sometimes I just ache, sometimes I feel downright depressed. I know it's all normal, but the knowing doesn't change the feeling.

Surfacing

I'm here, for those who are wondering. I'm still in one piece, albeit a rather broken and cracked piece. Sometimes it helps to process things in words. Sometimes there is no good way to take the words and thoughts in my head and put them on a page. Sometimes I want to write and I'm just too darn tired and exhausted. Me, my thoughts and emotions have been hiding below the surface and now I'm trying to push my way to the top and it's causing ripples throughout my life.

Exhaustion is the name of the game these days. Physical, emotional, mental. We plow through each day like we are walking through bricks or a sea of concrete. Some days I smile, occasionally I laugh. Most days I feel sad, though I don't cry every day now. People still ask how we are doing. I usually answer that we are muddling along. What else can I say? People ask how my dad is doing. I think usually I say that it is tough but he's coping. What I want to say is, "He just lost his wife! How do you think he's doing?!" With all the couples out there that have been divorced or unfaithful or uncaring it seems so unfair that my parents would be separated by my mom's death. They would have been married 35 years this September, not something to scoff at these days.

There are certain things I've done, others I haven't. I've written acknowledgements for flowers and donations. I've been to the cemetery and watered the flowers that were there for a while. I've gone through all of my mom's clothes. I've made a book for Dakota with all of the photos of her and my mom together. I'm planning to do the same for Cassie. I've thrown birthday celebrations for my husband and daughter. I've celebrated my 7th wedding anniversary on the day the newspaper article I didn't like ran about my mom...I haven't written back to many people on e-mail. I haven't gone through my mom's Bible or old notes she's written me. I haven't read through all of the hundreds of cards the family has received. I haven't figured out how we're going to get through the 4th without her, a celebration she was always an integral part of. I haven't figured out how to live in a world without my mom.

Displacement

Displacement. I feel so lost, so confused. It's like living in an alternate reality. I'm suddenly living in a world without my mom and I just moved to a new apartment, not to mention I'm still figuring out the ins and outs of trying to take care of three children. I can't make sense of anything right now. My world does not feel normal in any way. In a weird way I almost wish we hadn't moved...just so space and place would have some sense of comfort in being normal...but they aren't. I've had more people in and out of my new place, actually staying with us than I've ever had before. I'll soon have a long-term guest. It all is out of the realm of normal for me. I know my befuddlement is normal and expected, but that doesn't make it any less.

Tomorrow is my 7th Wedding anniversary. & is supposed to be a significant number...lucky number 7 and perfect 7...I wonder if it will do anything good for me?

No Words

Last Thursday, May 28, my mom passed away. I was there. Yesterday was her burial and service. I expect people are expecting me to write about it all, but right now there are no words...

Why are You Crying, Mommy?

Too many times lately I've heard this question from my little girls...my baby boy usually laughs when I cry because at 5 1/2 months he can't tell the difference between laughing and crying. My oldest daughter, however, is quite bright and usually ends up asking, "Why are you crying, Mommy? Do you miss Nana?" It breaks my heart, especially when she adds with downcast eyes, "I miss Nana too," to which I usually choke out, "I know" and then start crying harder. My eldest's relationship with my mom was something really special. They responded to each other and according to my Nana, they have very similar personalities. The thought of that loss...well, it usually seems greater than my own. Today was the pinnacle of bittersweet in that relationship. We were at the hospital visiting my mom and my daughter was with my husband by my mom talking to her and asked for lotion. (I'm not entirely sure how this came about because I was distracted by a hungry baby and a tired, cranky 2 year old.) The next thing I knew my husband and I were watching our almost four-year-old daughter lovingly and carefully rub lotion onto her Nana's arms. Tears were falling freely on both of our faces. The picture of a little girl's love for her Nana demonstrated in the only way she knew how (besides the myriad of sticker laden cards) was enough to move the hardest heart, let alone a tender broken one. I wish I had the words to adequately describe the pain and beauty of that moment.

When you fear the end is near...

Yes, Mother's Day was hard, really hard, but it's all water under the bridge now. My mom has double pneumonia and she's dying, not that that's anything new. The person who she was died the day the accident happened. Her physical body has been slowly dying since. I've known it was coming all along, but now that it seems to be almost here I wonder, am I really strong enough to survive this?

6 Months

Yesterday (last night) was the six month anniversary of the crash. That means today was the six-month anniversary of the worst day of my life. I managed the day better than expected, though last night was a long and exhausting one full of bad memories, anxiety and inability to sleep. A fussy, teething baby certainly didn't help, but was not the main cause. Today I managed to not think too much about it...no major reliving of flashbacks, though certain details here and there have come to mind. We visited Mom today at the hospital...there are none of the remnants of the crash...the cuts and bruising, her shattered knee, and yet she looks much less like herself than she did the morning after the crash. She still looked like Mom then. Today it struck me how much she looked like someone or something else, almost flat or deflated, a two dimensional version of the warm, loving, vibrant 3 dimensional person she used to be. Gosh darn it, I miss her, even now though the pain isn't so sharp, the endless, dull, ache still thuds deep down in my being.

Facing the Closet: A Bittersweet Tale

Imagine if you will, being led into a huge closet full of clothes, most of them around your size. There are bins of hats, scarves, purses, belts and shoes. You find that there are still two more hanging bags of clothes, several bins and another small closet full of nice clothing items...oh, and you can choose anything you want to wear out of all of this. That was me yesterday. And while the clothes were beautiful and I desperately need some serious help with my dwindling, shabby wardrobe, it was a heart breaking experience. This was my mom's closet. 

Yes, she is still living, but even if the unthinkable miracle happens and she some how gains her awareness and conscience self back, the paralysis would be extensive enough that she would never wear most of those things again. My dad wants my mom's beautiful things to be used, worn, enjoyed by those of us females who are close to her... and as her only daughter, I get first pick. It's like a dream come true all wrapped up in a living nightmare. I felt like a little kid who's dad just took her to the candy store and said, "Have whatever you want," but the reason for being there is because the kid's dog died. It is the pinnacle of bitter-sweet.

As I gently worked my way through skirts and blouses and dresses and sweaters and pants and jackets and so much more I could picture my mom in many of those things, knew that she wore that hooded sweatshirt at the lake and that blouse when it was really warm out. That dress was a favorite even though I thought it was out dated and those pants thrilled me when she got them because I though she was finally dressing more en vogue. I only did a cursory run though and will have to go back through things much more extensively. For the time being I did take a pile of things, light weight spring and summer items, most of which I had never seen her wear...it made them easier to take and will make them easier to wear having no memories of her in them. One dress still has the price tag on it, never worn before. Eventually I'll have to deal with the more sentimental items and that will be hard, but for now I'm playing it mostly safe. I have to keep repeating to myself that Mom always said, "People are more important than things," and I know that there is nothing there that is not replaceable.

I'm going to have to work through the clothes and accessories with other clothes family members and friends...this is my project now. It's hard, really hard, but I'll get through it. In the mean time I have to figure out how to wear these beautiful things that I desperately need and yet hesitate to put on. As I type I'm wearing some of my old clothes that I've had for a while, not quite able to bring myself to put on any of the beautiful things in that pile on my rocking chair...but I will eventually, I will.

Not Doing Well

The title of this post about sums it up, all of it, my mom, my week, my family and especially me. Sometimes I think it is a curse to have the ability to physically keep it "all together" when I'm living in the middle of heart-breaking tragedy. People see me coping what appears to be extraordinarily well and think I'm fine. Well, I'm not fine, VERY NOT fine. Internally, emotionally I'm falling to pieces. Part of it is coming to terms that we're nearing the 6-month anniversary of the accident and that my mom is not going to get better - ever, at least not on this earth. She is very slowly, little by little fading away as she fights infections, pneumonia, bed sores and all the rest that comes from being in a persistent vegetative state. I know there are people out there still holding out hope that my mom is going to somehow miraculously wake up and become who she was before, but it's not going to happen. It's not that God isn't all powerful, it's that generally speaking He chooses to operate according to the laws of nature and naturally speaking, a person with a traumatic brain injury does not suddenly or even gradually recover from this state after 6 months. I would have to be pretty full of myself to believe that God would go against his own natural laws just to please me.

That being said my heart is heavy and my body reaping the physical results of emotional turmoil. I've been fighting a cold all week and finally lost. I've been spacey, absent minded, clumsy, scatter-brained, a mess. Whatever I touch seems to go wrong. I had trouble getting my printer to print tax forms, flooded my kitchen, made my usual yummy lasagna bland, lost patience with my kids and then forgot to discipline them, let my apartment turn into a disaster zone and almost had to walk out of my small group when someone shared a prayer request too close to home and with a happy ending, unlike ours. I'm desperate to be around people, to laugh, be loved, share friendship and yet I get to a group and can barely speak, barely formulate the turmoil that is in my heart. I'm a wreck and can't even communicate it, don't know how to tell people what I'm feeling since they obviously can't read my sad, tired eyes. I feel empty, cold, alone, incapable even of loving those closest to me. They think I'm fine and I'm not fine.

It Has to Get Better!

It has to get better. It just has to. My dad arrives home today after being gone nearly three weeks. I will be so relieved to have him home, especially after his near run-in with Pirates, yes, PIRATES! They still exist in our modern day world and my dad just happened to get close, too close in my opinion. I know we'll be joking about this one for years, but I think that if he had been captured, I probably would have suffered a mental breakdown. To quote Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Ernest, "To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune.  To lose both looks like carelessness." Seriously, would anyone have actually believed me? I'm having a hard enough time convincing people he had a near run-in with Pirates in the first place. I'm currently considering selling my life's story...it ought to make an interesting book and in this economy we could use the cash!

Pirates aside, my kids managed to get colds and then the stomach bug at the same time my mom had Pneumonia. Trying to take care of them and get to the hospital felt like being in the middle of a tug of war. Sometimes I wonder if I have a "kick me" sign taped to me somewhere where I can't see it. It feels that way. Sometimes the hardest part is feeling so torn and not feeling like anyone really understands. People tell me not to kill myself, not to overdo it, to balance my life, make priorities, but when it comes down to it, no one is in my shoes and understands the extreme difficulty of actually doing that. No matter what I do I feel badly for not doing or being what each person needs at that time.

Easter weekend is coming though. While I don't relish the difficulty of ploughing through another holiday without my mother's busy participation, at least I'll have my family together. Hospital visits, amusing the kids and fixing Easter dinner will be family affairs. I've done my darnedest to add some special touches of my own this year and I know the others will do their part as well. Last night I took a small Easter basket, an Easter Lily (from my Nana) and a blue hyacinth over to the hospital so Mom would be surrounded by little touches of the season as well. I even made her a palm cross, something she tries to get me to do every year and I usually stubbornly refuse to do. So barring unforeseen disasters (which I'd give a good even chance of occurring), I'm ready for a better week and a peaceful Easter.

Spring Ramblings

Today at the little grocery I stopped at to pick something up for dinner, I was enchanted by the small bunches of bright yellow daffodil buds for sale. I had to have some. I brought them home and put them in a vase of warm water and they are already opening their canary petals. They are a beautiful reminder that spring is coming, and a painful reminder of my mom. Every spring she used to buy me at least one bunch of daffodils early in the season. Her own bulbs are shaded and are always the last to bloom, so until those came up she usually bought me some to enjoy.

I miss her. The bright yellow flowers are just one of the many reminders of the pieces of my mom that I no longer have. It makes me sad that she's missing spring, missing the time of year when her garden, lying dormant through our cold winters starts to bud and grow again.

And spring isn't the only this she's missing this year. My son is four months old today, a beautiful, happy, laughing, engaging and content baby who smiles at anyone and everyone he meets. She never met him, never saw him, never held his chubby little hand or felt his silky baby soft skin. He'll grow up knowing about Nana, but never really knowing Nana.

Spring is coming. Doesn't that mean that noses are supposed to stop running and we get a little respite from all the winter-time ailments? Then why is it that both my girls have had colds and my mom has been battling pneumonia...at the same time!!!? It's enough to make any sane person crazy, and that's without Spring fever!!!

Losing It

I lost it for the first time at the hospital this weekend. I am usually very in control of my feelings and emotions when I'm there. It wouldn't do to be crying away with all of the staff in and out of the room. Saturday, however, I think I was really struggling. I was tired, I missed my mom. I was holding my 3 1/2 month old baby boy up for her to see and she just stared at him like he wasn't there. I lost it. I looked back at my husband and the tears were just running down my cheeks. I don't have perfect composure. Just because I can compartmentalize my feelings so much of the time does not mean I'm not affected by the sorrow. It gets to me in little ways just like it gets to all of us.

So Tired

Last week the kids and I went to Florida to visit with my Nana. I think I was secretly hoping that it would somehow be this magical retreat away from everything at home and I'd come home refreshed and renewed. It wasn't like that of course. I really don't think I was very well prepared for the emotional assault that I would experience from being in a place where I've spent so many hours with my mom. In fact, the last time I was down there it was with my mom and the girls. Grief, anguish, sorrow, longing...I think I'm realizing that I am going to have to deal with these things in each and every place that had significance to my mom. It's a long and painful process that can only be halted by her recovery of will and consciencness.

Now I am home and the emotional exhaustion coupled with the physical exhaustion ( I haven't been getting much sleep lately) has left me wiped. It's not a good state to be in because it makes everything harder from being patient with my children to fixing dinner to having the energy to sit and talk with my husband in the evening. I was talking with someone today and musing how most people dealing with issues of parental health have grown or at least older children. I have all the challenges of a young family coupled with the responsibilities of helping my parents and it's a very full load.

One thing was a bit of a releif today. I visited my mom with the kids (and the help of a friend) and she has been moved to the bed by the window. Her roommate passed away on Tuesday and we asked that my mom be moved near the window. Now that she's there we have more space, more light and thus less frustration. Even if a new person is moved to Mom's old bed we'll still be in the position with more room and light. It's a nice change.

A lesson from smileys

Today when we were at the doctor's office for my nearly two-year-old's  checkup (her birthday is tomorrow), my 3 1/2 year old saw the above pain scale up on the bulletin board. After studying it for a minute she said, "Mommy, that smiley face is crying." I smiled at her little technical blunder...Actually it's a sad face, not a smiley face. But then I thought about it, a crying smiley face. Isn't that a pretty good representation of me right now? I may smile on the outside, but inside I'm still crying. It's probably an accurate description for many of us. We need to remember that behind the smiles often lies a lot of pain, hurt and sorrow and we shouldn't assume just because people appear happy that they really are. Appearances are often deceiving. What an interesting thought brought about by a child's understanding.

A Touch of Whimsy

Just so everyone reading this doesn't think I go around thinking morbid, depressing thoughts all the time...

Some of you are Harry Potter fans and some of you are not. If you have never read Harry Potter you'll just have to ignore this post or read in ignorance...either that or go out and read the books. Chris and I have read every book and seen all the movies. I read the first book as a teen one summer out loud with my mom and brother (I loved reading Hagrid's part with his accent!) and I read the last book the day after it came out (my husband got to read it first since I was out of town until late that night). One thing I have always contemplated and it came to mind again when I watched the latest movie again the other night, it the nature of the patronus. I've always wondered if I lived in the mythical world of Harry Potter, what animal would my patronus be? It seems like a patronus must represent something about the person to whom it belongs. I used to think maybe mine would be a sheep...loving, dumb, cute, fuzzy etc, but it never seemed quite right. I'm not really sure what mine would have been. 

With everything that's happened though, I think it's quite possible that mine might have changed. If those of you Potter aficionados remember from Book Six and Tonks, Patronuses can change when there is trauma involved (and I think I've had plenty of trauma). The funny thing is that with all the emphasis I have in my life on overcoming tragedy it suddenly struck me that a likely candidate, especially if you look at the title of this blog, (Ashes), would be the Phoenix. But that couldn't be right because that's Dumbledore's patronus and I'm definitely not on par with Dunbledore! Unless you can have different types of people with the same patronus...Hmmm, guess I'll have to keep thinking. I'd love to hear what other people think on this whimsical subject.

Valentine's Day

I won't lie, today was a hard day. But I also know that I wasn't the only person it was hard for. I know of three funerals going on today, ironic since 14 years ago I spent this day at a funeral myself, for my grandmother. I know that there are many hurting people out there, people who are sad, lonely, feeling empty. Valentine's day can be a very happy day, but it can also be incredibly sad for those of us who are hurting, alone, or full of sorrow.

This is the "love" holiday, but I find it rather pathetic that this holiday revolves around gifts, chocolate, jewelry, flowers and romantic candlelit dinners. It's not that any of those things are bad - I like chocolate and flowers as much as the next girl - it's just that they don't really demonstrate love. I sat holding my infant son today watching my dad sit by my mom in her hospital room, hand on her shoulder, just being there with her even though she showed no recognition or response to him. He goes there to be with her day after day even though things are bleak as can be. THAT is real love. My husband spent a month out of work after the accident helping care for our two girls, taking care menial tasks, running errands, doing grocery shopping, running communications for our family and comforting/supporting his shell-shocked, grieving and very pregnant and hormonal wife. That is real love. I have a few very close friends who have listened to me ramble, let me rant and rage, offered strong shoulders for my tears, sat with me in the hospital, written encouragement without judgment in response to this blog and called when they knew I needed to talk. That is real love. I have church body of brothers and sisters who have prayed for me and my family, visited my mother, made us meals, watched my children, cleaned my house, bought us a washer and dryer, respected our rules for privacy, written us notes of encouragement and come along side us with open arms. That is real love. I also have a saviour who made himself human so he could share in our human sufferings and temptations, who allowed himself to be scorned, mocked and rejected, who experienced unimaginable agony and pain to die for our sins, our faults, our human cruelty, and who loves us and forgives us even when we are at our worst. That is real love.

The other stuff...it's the trappings of Hollywood romance. This stuff, it's the real deal.

Change how you think

Who would have thought that a baby's smile could reduce me tears? The truth is that it is that very thing that keeps happening. I keep thinking that I'm doing okay, but then my 10 week old baby boy smiles at me and it hits me, most obvious when he smiles he looks exactly like me as a baby. And when that renewed realization comes the stabbing pain through my heart, that my mom will never know she has a beautiful grandson who looks just like me.

I know that there are probably people reading this that are thinking, "But your mom isn't dead! She could wake up and be fine and quickly catch up on everything she missed. God can work miracles you know." All I can say is, stop. STOP!!!!!!!!!! I mean it! I know all you people mean well and I know God can work miracles but the facts are that my mom will probably never be herself again and God probably will not choose to do that particular miracle. Do continue to pray, do continue to offer support, but please, stop spouting off trite phrases at me and my family. It is NOT OKAY!!!! It's most likely not ever going to be okay this side of heaven. My hope is in eternity and my belief that I will see my mom again, whole and herself again in heaven. But to cling to false hopes of her waking up on this earth...it just makes this whole process harder. We go through the grieving cycle over and over again; it never ends. It's not like the usual cycle of grief over a loss. Our loss is a daily battle and every time we get to the end of it, it starts over. Giving us false hope only makes these cycles worse, so please, please, adjust your perspective to where the hope for my mom really lies. Her body may be broken, but her soul is eternal.

A Long Week

I haven't fallen off the edge of the earth...at least not physically. This week has been about physical and emotional endurance. With my dad out of the country for the first time since the accident I've been heading to the hospital every day. With three small children it's nearly impossible without the help of friends. I've had help, but I'm still so tired I can barely type. The physical wear and tear of going to and from the hospital as well as falling behind on regular duties is tough. I feel torn between my mom and my kids. Today was the worst...needing to get back to the girls, Mom coughing and grimacing in pain, Luke fussing and needing me to walk him, but I don't want to leave Mom...it's brutal. Then there was the frustration and anger. Why didn't more people visit my mom the past few days when I thought I'd made it clear to quite a few that Mom needed visitors this week?! I shouldn't be mad at others, should I? I feel like it's my own guilt at not being able to spend more time at the hospital looking for a vent. No more tonight, it's been too long a week. I need some rest.

Lost Memories

Today should have been such a happy day. We've all been looking forward to it for two months. Instead I ended up feeling so sad when it was all over.  My infant son got to go see his Nana for the first time. My mom was unable to see the baby before because his immune system was not developed enough until now for him to be allowed up in the hospital ward. Previously he had stayed down in the lobby with someone or at home with my husband. This morning my dad held him in his arms (he- my son- is still not allowed to touch my mom) in my mom's line of sight so she could see him. My dad held him for a while. I think we were all hoping that when the baby started crying that somehow that would trigger something inside of her and she'd show some awareness...instead, nothing. I'd like to think that there was some show of a frown when my son started fussing, but if there really was I don't think it was more than a reflexive response, same as usual. It's painful enough to have my mom look blankly at me, but to have her see her grandson for the first time and give that precious baby the same blank stare...it kills me. I think of all the the wonderful memories that might have been and now will never be. It breaks my heart. So many more things were lost that day than just my mom, so many links, so many events and stories and memories that might have been. It is more painful than I can say.

The Snow and the Tree

The one thing I love about the snow is the way a fresh falling blankets the trees and ground and even the grungy streets and sidewalks. The crisp, white purity doesn't last long once the snow stops falling, but for a short while everything looks perfect. Today as the snow was falling (before the sleet and rain and ice) I was thinking how that was analogy for life. Life is often drab and bleak and colorless, but even in the midst of it all there are those few moments when everything is covered by soft, sparkling white. These moments seem few and far between, but I'm learning to look for and find them more often. They are the few quiet (or loud) moments when I don't remember just how difficult and painful life is...a funny antic by one of the girls, a smile from my infant son, a kind note from a friend, a phone call, a good book, a glass of wine and a delicious steaming piece of lasagna. Little things, and yet they have the power to make one small moment in time glisten.

In addition to these thoughts I was also thinking how my mom and her life were like a tree. (Forgive me, but I often think in analogies.) She was strong, nurturing, a haven for many living things - people and plants! Now she seems stripped of what makes her herself, her leaves and flowers and fruit. She is the stark, bare tree we see in winter. I believe that some day those leaves and flowers and fruit will be restored ans she will be herself again, whole and happy and beautiful, but it may not happen in this life on this earth. I believe with all my heart that my mom has a beautiful soul that will live on forever in heaven. She will be restored again. For now though, it is painful, so painful, to see her in this condition. When we lose a loved one it's like the tree is cut down. It's gone, and for a while everything looks strange because there is a gap, a large empty space where it belongs. Gradually, however, we get used to the tree being gone and eventually we are able to live without being shocked or startled every time we look up and see the tree is no longer there. In this case however, the tree appears dead, but it is still there. We see it there and it is excruciatingly painful to see it no longer green and thriving and with little hope of ever returning to its previous glory. Instead of gradually getting used to its absence we are blinded day after day with the painful sight of the barren and lifeless tree. This is a picture of what it is like living with my mom the way she is, awake but not aware, there, but not really there, looking like herself, but not the person we know and love. And oh how I miss her.

Three months. It's been three months tonight since I said goodbye to her for the last time and she spoke back to me. I've adapted some to the pain, to the loss, but it still hurts, still throbs. What I wouldn't give to hear her voice even one more time.

My Surreal Status Quo

Up, down, laugh, cry. Smile, hope, sadness, despair. I am doing better than I ever could have imagined, and yet I am not doing well each and every day. I feel like when I hit the bottom of my tolerance I receive an encouraging word, an e-mail, a call, some insight spiritually that makes me feel lighter. When I feel better, when I think I might just make it, something happens to hit me over the head and smash me down again. I am doing remarkably well and unbelievably awful at the same time. I didn't know it was possible.

Last Tuesday at my Bible Study I felt so encouraged. I was reminded of the eternal perspective, that no matter what happens here on earth, no one and nothing can really touch my mother. She has Christ and she has eternity and she will always have them. Thursday evening the deer hit my car. Last night I felt ill after filling out the accident report. Today my knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel each time I passed a semi or large truck on my way into the city. Tonight someone offered me reassurance and comfort about other fears and I actually felt reassured. 

The ups, the downs...I can't say they are more pronounced, if anything I am softer, more malelable. I am more sensitive to things, and yet I absorb them better, easier. The strain is greater, but the peace more pronounced, more noticeable. Sometimes I feel like I am someone else. Time before the accident is like a memory. I have become someone else. I don't know if that is good or bad - I suspect it is both. Perhaps my words sound confusing here on the page, but it all makes sense in my mind, in my soul. Perhaps you have to be in the middle of something like this to really understand. Maybe those of you who have experienced heartbreaking tragedy understand what I mean, maybe not. Those of you who don't, I wish you could and yet I hope you don't. I live in a new world, and though I don't feel brave, I must be so.

Flashbacks

Tonight was a bad night. My three year old and I are alright, but on our way to the grocery store this evening our car was hit by a deer. The stupid animal got up and ran off and the damage could have been a lot worse...basically structural over the right front tire. The emotional fall-out, however, is yet to be determined. Being in any sort of an accident is traumatic I'm sure, but for me it meant thinking about what happened two and half months ago to my mom. Driving along, thoughts on other things...I'm sure she never saw it coming any more than I saw that darn deer. We were fine though, she was not. I had to stop at the police station to file a report for my insurance. (The police didn't have to come to the scene since the car was drivable and the deer ran off.) I hated going to the police station. All I could think about was the cop showing up at my door at 4:30 am to give me the worst news of my life. I keep thinking about it, even now several hours later. I am thankful that we are okay, but I think it's going to take a couple days to shake this off because of the horrible memories it drags up for me. Already I'm up way too late, avoiding bed because I fear lying there unable to sleep, my mind racing. I can't put it off any longer, but I just hope I can sleep.

A Poem

What God Hath Promised

God hath not promised skies always blue,

Flower-strewn pathways all our lives thro';

God hath not promised sun without rain,

Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.

God hath not promised we shall not know

Toil and temptation, trouble and woe;

He hath not told us we shall not bear

Many a burden, many a care.

But God hath promised strength for the day,

Rest for the laborer, light for the way.

Grace for the trials, help from above,

Unfailing sympathy, undying love.

~ Annie Johnson Flint

This poem was written in a card from my mom to a friend on Thursday, January 30, 1986. (It was written in her beautiful calligraphy handwriting.) It reached out to me and made me smile and cry. I'm sure she never anticipated how it would touch her daughter 23 years after she wrote it to someone else. I know she believed what is written in this poem with all of her heart and it brings me some comfort.

The Darkest Hour is Always at Night

Nights are the worst...by far. In the month following the accident I don't know that any of the immediate family really slept. My sleeplessness was aggravated by pregnancy hormones, which often had me awake for several hours. Despite my weariness I'd lie there awake, frustrating under any circumstances, but made 100 times worse by finding myself always thinking about what had happened. I sleep better now that I have a newborn, but even now sometimes when I've been up feeding him in the night I am haunted by thoughts and memories and I can't fall back asleep. It drives me crazy and I want to scream and find a way to shut down my racing thoughts, the images that flit through my mind like so many demons. 

"Things always seem worse at night." I remember both my parents telling me that as a child and even into my young adult years. It is so very true...either that or our minds are less distracted and able to see more clearly the horrors we face. There is something about the darkness, the quiet, the cold, that makes the longing deeper, the pain harsher, reality more biting, the tears flow more freely. After a night like this the day is harder too because I awaken tired and sad. Then there are the dreams. Good dreams become nightmares when you awaken from them to find they aren't true. Bad dreams become good if they involve your loved one being alive, well and whole. If I could rest, sleep, dream at night without ever thinking, I think I would be a much happier person.

Beholden

I'll admit it, I hate accepting help. Unless it's help from a close family member that with whom I'm very comfortable, I much prefer being the helper than the helpee. Ironically, my mother was the same way. This has made the past three months really difficult for me. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all of the help that people have given us. There is no way we could have made it otherwise. I just feel like I've wracked up this huge debt to people that can never be repaid. I feel like I will have to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to everyone and to me that is a huge burden. I have had so much help from meals to childcare to cleaning to the washer and dryer that were bought for us and it means a lot to me. I know my mom used to help an awful lot of people...there have been so many testimonies to her, and I know she would be happy that people have been helping us. But how on earth am I to live up to her and to all the help that's been provided? I certainly don't feel worthy or capable. I don't have a choice though, and I just hope no one is holding it against me that I haven't written a thank you note to everyone who has helped us out. If I did that I wouldn't have time to do anything but write, there's been that much help. So if you are one of those people...thank you, and please forgive me for not providing a note.

Where is God?

Those of you who know me know that I believe in God and consider myself a Christian.  I believe that my word view is distinctly shaped and molded by these factors. This means that they play a huge role in my perception of this whole horrible, messy situation. I will be honest with you right up front. Am I mad at God right now? Definitely. Do I feel like he doesn't care - yes. That he's abandoned us, yes. I can't tell you how many times I've turned to my husband and said, "It's not fair. Why does God hate us so much?" Yes, I am hurt, angry and wrestling with God...but I still believe in Him and I still believe that He loves me. In this darkest hour when I feel like we as a family are literally walking through the valley of the shadow of death one of my few comforts is that we are not alone. Christ walks with us. There is no hardship, no pain, no suffering that he hasn't known. The fact that he would sacrifice his life mine means that he does love me. But it still hurts.  

Suffering in this world is rampant. I believe that suffering is the result of sin. I also believe that God works all things out for His purposes, though they don't make sense to me and sometimes make me feel like God must be cruel. Especially right now. I feel like God has beaten me over the head, mashed me to a pulp and most certainly asked me to bear more than I can. Yet I still find myself going back to him, darn it! Am I a blind follower? Or is it maybe that he really does care, really does love me, really is working things out though I can't see or feel it. Being refined is never fun, yet the end results are often stunning...look at gold (anyone read this month's National Geographic?). I am still wrestling with all this...probably will be my whole life to be honest...just wanted people to know where I am with all of this. I am tenuously clinging, but still clinging.

How do I know that God is there, even amidst my anger and hurt? I know because I felt him and his strength...that morning when the police officer knocked on my hotel door at 4:30 in the morning, as I calmly made and fielded phone call after phone call from the hotel room where I was stuck by myself - 8 month pregnant and with two little children, as I walked into the ICU and saw my mom for the first time after the accident, those early days when we didn't know if my mom would survive, struggling through my brother's wedding just four days after the accident. He's been there. I may not get it, I may be angry, but I know he is there and He's the main reason I'm making it through all of this without completely losing my mind.

Life Sentence

It hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but then it always does. No matter how realistic and pragmatic I try to be, those darn elements of hope and faith creep in ever so subtly so that when further discouraging confirmations come in, they knock me down all over again. The neurosurgeon's report came in...he was personable, kind, open to questions, and painfully discouraging. And the ruling he gave us, like a life sentence in prison. She wakes, sleeps, opens her eyes, looks around for naught because she isn't really awake. It seems cruel, the idea that it is most likely that she will lie in that bed day after day, year after year never speaking, never feeling, never knowing those she loves and who love her, missing all the events of our lives until some day far in the future she finally slips away for good from some infection or pneumonia or something similar. The image I'm reminded of comes from the Count of Monte Cristo when Edmond Dantes, betrayed by his best friend, is thrown into the tiny, bleak, cell in an isolated prison to serve out a sentence he didn't earn for the rest of his life. That's what we're being handed, that's what my mother is getting, though she has done nothing to deserve it. That's how we feel when we hear the news, even though we already knew in our heads that it was likely. The gavel has fallen, the judge has spoken, the ruling is against us.

The Music of Pain

Music has a way of reaching inside me and pulling out emotions that I can't express. Heart-tugging chords echo the sounds of my life. Song lyrics express the words that I want to speak or write, but just can't compose. If you love music, if you are in any way moved by it, you may understand. The other night driving to the hospital I was moved to tears by two or three songs that seemed to say what I was feeling inside. When there are no words, for me there is a song. It was a song that inspired the name for this blog and I'll share the full lyrics here, though a small portion of them appear in the sidebar. The song is called "Beauty from Pain," by the Superchicks and has a beautifully haunting melody to deliver the lyrics.

Beauty From Pain- by Superchicks

The lights go out all around me
One last candle to keep out the night
And then the darkness surrounds me
I know I'm alive
But I feel like I died
And all that's left is to accept that it's over
My dreams ran like sand through the fists that I made
I try to keep warm but I just grow colder
I feel like I'm slipping away

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

My whole world is the pain inside me
The best I can do is just get through the day
When life before is only a memory
I wonder why God lets me walk through this place
And though I can't understand why this happened
I know that I will when I look back someday
And see how you've brought beauty from ashes
And made me as gold purified through these flames

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

Here I am at the end of me
Trying to hold to what I can't see
I forgot how to hope
This night's been so long
I cling to your promise
There will be a dawn

After all this has passed
I still will remain
After I've cried my last
There'll be beauty from pain
Though it won't be today
Someday I'll hope again
And there'll be beauty from pain
You will bring beauty from my pain

Missing Mom

It hits at the strangest times, as I'm sure any of you who have lost a loved one (either physically or emotionally) can attest.  Today I nearly burst into tears in the middle of a store over some dish towels. There were red and white with hearts for Valentine's day and I wanted to buy them because my oldest daughter always gets so excited at seasonal towels. She loves the various hand towels that appear for each holiday in my mom's downstairs bathroom. They weren't really expensive, but definitely a luxury and since I'm trying to be careful about money, I didn't buy them. But I was suddenly struck by the thought that Mom would have bought something like that for me, for my daughter, just because she could and she knew it would make us happy and smile to have Valentine's towels of our own. Then and there in the line waiting to pay for my purchase, I nearly broke down sobbing.

I miss my mom so much, it's crazy. I remember how often she used to drive me nuts and I'd want to ignore her 37 calls and 52 e-mails each day. Now I'd give anything to see her address pop up in my in-box or hear her cheery ring on my cell phone. I want to talk to her, and I can't. Honestly, I think if she were dead I'd talk to her all the time now and just hope she could hear me up in heaven, crazy or not. Now, though, I walk into her hospital room and everything I want to say dies on my lips. I see her lying there and wonder if she can hear me, sense my mood, know what I'm feeling by how I act, and I can't bear the thought of dragging her down, discouraging her, frustrating her. What if I started crying in front of her and she could hear me but couldn't respond? How distressed would I be in that situation!!! I just can't do that to her.

I say that my mom used to drive me nuts and it's true. The truth is though, for all her quirks, all the things that drove me crazy, all the times I wanted to yell at her (or did yell at her), all her faults, all the things that I swore I'd never do to my kids, all those times I thought life would be easier if I moved across the country from her, my mom really was one of my best friends. Maybe I didn't see it that way, maybe I didn't even realize it, but she was. I could talk to her about most anything, enjoyed a lot of the same activities, and shared a good number of her strengths and faults. In many ways she encouraged me and was my mentor. I may not have admitted it, but in many ways I wanted to be like my mom. Now that everything has happened, I realize all this. How blind we are to what we have at the time.

So much of my life is tied to my mom. It's natural of course, but even worse because I live 10 minutes from my childhood home. So many memories. Sitting in the food court at the mall I remembered sitting there with her and the girls. Passing various stores I remembered the grand hunt for the perfect outfit and accessories for her, myself, and my girls for my brother's wedding. Sitting in church I see the flowers up front and think of the hundreds of arrangements she did for them. Cooking in her kitchen, sitting at her place at the table, I remember the hundreds of meals she cooked and served. There are thousands of memories because I walk where she walked, live in the area where she lived, was a close part of her life.

The problem is that when life gets tough, when I want to hole up and hide, when I want to scream at my kids, chuck shoes at my husband, curl up in a ball and cry, when I want to just vent to someone who I know will love me no matter what I do, I automatically think of my mom now. After all, she's never the one vexing me these days. But she's not there, not available, not able to listen, and hold me, and talk and pray for me and encourage me in the way that only a mother can...and it breaks my heart and leaves me feeling raw and miserable. I can't even write this entry without crying. No one can replace her. No one can be her. I just want my mom back, I just want her back.