Last March We Thought We Were Going To Lose Her

Exactly one year ago today, I wrote this post.  It was entitled "Perspective" and I wrote it after the second worst day of my life.  The worst day-- the darkest, most painful day of my life-- was May 3, 2011.  The day my mom died.  The second worst day of my life was March 27, 2011 because it was the day we thought we were going to lose her.  My mom had developed a severe staph infection and my dad had called me that morning saying I needed to come to the hospital quickly.  Her chest wound was reopening, her fever was 105, she was septic, and she had to be put on a ventilator to breathe.  Things were not looking good.

I remember that day.  My stomach was churning as I waited the the family room.  Friends and relatives gathered to talk and pray.  The nurse came in and gave us a grim outlook.  I was panic stricken.  But it was not her day to die yet.  She miraculously recovered, and March 27th did not see the end of her life.  The next day I wrote the post I mentioned above.  I was reflecting on how perspective changes everything.  I could complain about the numerous health problems still facing my mom or I could just be thankful that she was still with us.  I chose to be thankful.  Little did I know, I had just six more weeks with her.

I've often thought that God doesn't allow us to see the future for many reasons.  Mainly, though, I think if we saw the difficult days ahead of us (and we all have them), we would perhaps not be willing to endure them.  It would be too overwhelming to walk down that road. Not knowing that I only had six weeks left with my mom made me appreciate each and every day because I didn't know if it would be her last.  I am so grateful God granted us that extra time.  Do I wish I had more time?  Without a doubt.  Do I wish we had a different outcome all together?  The answer would be a resounding YES!  But I also know none of us are guaranteed tomorrow, and I know God's perspective is so much higher than mine could ever be. So I rest in that.

Last March we thought we were going to lose my mom.
But we didn't.

Mom and me at my baby shower for Lucas

I like to think of her smiling and happy.  No chest wounds.  No tubes. No infection.

This is the way I will always remember her.

Crying Day

My Mom

Spring, 1979

Some days are just sad days for me.  I wake up and can't shake the feeling.  

I pray.  I talk about it.  I reflect on good memories.  But no matter what I do, some days are just sad days.  

Today was one of those days.  I woke up aching to call my mom and talk to her.  It started off with something as simple as wanting to tell her about The Hunger Games.  I finished reading the first book last week while I was sick, and I really enjoyed it.  She loved young adult literature and sci-fi, so I know she would have really liked the book too.  I could just imagine the conversation we would have about it over lunch at our favorite spot-- Nikkellette's Cafe.  We would talk about our favorite parts, why we identified with the main character, which scenes surprised us, and how we could compare it to today's society.  We could have some seriously good conversations about books.

Today something as silly as a book got me thinking about her.  And missing her.  And something inside me just hurt really, really bad.  

So I cried a lot today.  

That's just the kind of day it was.

Homesick

I had a dream about my mom last night.  It was so vivid and so clear that I woke up a bit panicked.  In the dream I was with my mom standing in the kitchen of our old house, the home that I lived in from age 10 to age 22.  My mom was vibrant and healthy looking, and she was pulling out all kinds of things from her kitchen cabinets and handing them to me saying, "Here! You can have these!"  While she was handing me things like place mats and mugs and napkin rings, I asked her, "Why are you giving me all this?"  She looked at me and smiled and said, "Because I'm going away."  And in my dream I instantly knew that she wasn't going away on a vacation or extended trip.  I knew she was going away to heaven.  I started begging her to stay, but she kept reassuring me that she had to go.  I eventually closed my eyes, clenched my teeth and screamed like a child throwing a fit, "STAY HERE AND FIGHT!"  But she just calmly said, "I can't."  And then I woke up.  I woke up tense and had to sit up and take some deep breaths.  I haven't had very many dreams about my mom since she passed away, so this took me by surprise.  And as a result I have found myself thinking about her a lot today, longing to see her again.  

And then I heard a song on the radio this afternoon and the lyrics hit me like a ton of bricks.  They SO perfectly capture how I've been feeling as I have been walking this road of grief for seven months now.  

"Homesick"

You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times

And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you

But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry 

Is how long must I wait to be with you

I close my eyes and I see your face

If home's where my heart is, then I'm out of place

Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow

I've never been more homesick than now

Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways

The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know

But even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same

Cause I'm still so far away from home

In Christ there are no goodbyes

And in Christ, there is no end

So I'll hold on to Jesus, with all that I have

To see you again

To see you again

And I close my eyes, and I see your face

If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place

Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow

I've never been more homesick than now

Little Bear And My Boy

When I was little, my mom read to me everyday.  I loved snuggling up in her lap and listening to her animated voice reading the words on the pages.  It felt safe and comfortable and innocent.  It's one of my favorite memories; one that is wrapped up in both a visual image and a physical feeling.

Now that I am a mom, I love to read with my little ones.  I hope that during the times I snuggle up with my kids, they experience the same wonderful feeling I did as a child so many years ago (well...34 years ago...does this count as "many"?).

Some of my very favorite books were the Little Bear books by Maurice Sendak, illustrated by Else Holmelund Minarik.  I loved the simple stories and the lovely illustrations.  They made me want to jump right into the books and live with Little Bear and his family deep in the heart of the woods.  So I'm thrilled that the Little Bear books are favorites among my crew of little people.  My girls love "The Goblin Story" and "Mother Bear's Robin".  Lucas is just now developing the attention span to move past board books and into some longer stories.  He now asks for "Teddy Bear" books (code for "Little Bear books") each time we sit down.

Today after eating lunch and cleaning up the dishes, he and I sat down in the rocking chair in his room.  The afternoon was cloudy, so the room was dark except for the warm glow of the small lamp beside the chair.  It cast a yellow light down over the pages.  Lucas grabbed his beloved green blanket and we opened the familiar pages of Little Bear's Visit.  I started right in, trying to read the words with as much animation as my mother's voice.  About halfway through, I noticed that Lucas was very still and his head slightly tilted to the side.  I peered down and saw his eyes shut and his chest rising with deep, sleepy breaths.  I closed the book and set it down, wrapping my arms tightly around his little body.  I shut my eyes and breathed in the scent of the top of my boy's head, cherishing the moment for awhile before gently moving him to his crib to finish the rest of his nap.

In the quiet of his bedroom, I tried to imagine a similar scene-- one in which I was was a small two year old girl and my mom was the one with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped tightly around me.  Although I would have been too young to really remember such a thing, I like to think that it happened one day while we were reading Little Bear together on a cloudy afternoon some thirty-something years ago.

Mom's Birthday

October 30, 1948 was a wonderful day.  It was the day my beautiful mom was born.  Just one year after her sister was born, Barbara June made her debut into this world.  She was destined to live a live of gentleness and compassion.  From birth her parents and siblings described her as a "sweet girl" and she truly was sweet her entire life.

My mom. I see so much of Hannah in her face.

My mom grew up as an "army brat" and moved many, many times throughout her childhood including places like Germany and Okinawa.  Moving so much made her very close to her five siblings.  My mom was quiet, loved to read, played paper dolls with her sister, Lindell, helped take care of her four younger brothers, and was smart enough to skip the third grade, going straight into fourth!

My mom celebrating an earlier birthday with her sister, brother and friends.

My mom is on the front row in the center, her sister is in the back row on the far left and her brother Paul is the only boy in the picture!

Many years and many birthdays later, my mom met my dad while attending college in Norman, Oklahoma.  They fell in love and married in February of 1970.  Seven years later, after battling and beating cancer, I was born.  She always said I was the best gift she ever received.  I think being born to the parents God gave me was an incredible gift to me.   

My mom and me

Easter Sunday

For the next 34 years, my mother loved, cared for, disciplined, and encouraged me.  She spent quality time with me, she taught me, she played with me, and she read to me.  She worked hard, didn't complain, and always managed to smile her beautiful smile.  During my teenage years, she waited up for me after I had been out with my friends.  She listened to me and we laughed together.  She gave advice, but didn't nag.  We played games together, shopped together and could talk for hours about anything and everything.  

Me and mom during my college years.

A special moment at my wedding.

My mom and I just three years ago at her 60th birthday party.

And then in 2004 and again in 2009, my mom became a Grandma!  She was so thrilled to step into that role. She was with me at all of my children's births. She held them each so tenderly and loved them as deeply as I did.  She enjoyed being a part of their lives, even making each child a special book in which she wrote love letters to them. My kids adored their Grandma.  Leah always called my mom her "best buddy."  

 Grandma and PaPa at the girls' Pre-K Christmas presentation

Grandma holding Lucas just days after his birth.

So today, on my mom's birthday, as much as I wish I could celebrate with her and give her a gift, I instead accept the gift.  The gift of the many memories I have with her.  The gift of the loving example she set for me.  And the gift of her incredible legacy I can pass on to my own children.

So thank you, Mom.  For being a gift to me.

When we see each other in heaven one day, we can celebrate again.

Simple Reminders

I was talking to my mom's sister the other day and she described how she had recently been at the grocery store the other day to buy a package of tea.  While there the thought suddenly hit her that she was picking up this particular brand and flavor of tea because it's the kind my mom recommended and always purchased.  My aunt said in a matter of seconds she went from feeling just fine to feeling like she wanted to sit down in the middle of the store aisle and have a good cry.  All because of a box of tea! 

I totally understand this though.  Grief comes in waves.  Sometimes those waves are big and tall and come crashing down on you, pulling you under, making it hard to catch your breath.  Grief crashed down on me like this last week, and I felt comepletely wiped out by it.  At other times, Grief washes over you more subtly.  Like looking at a box of tea and remembering my mom using the same brand.  Or opening my cookbook and seeing recipe after recipe written in her nice neat handwriting.  Or putting on a sweater that she picked out just for me.

Today I experienced one of these sublte moments.  I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies (like I do just about every other day....we love our chocolate chip cookies over here).  Mike was busily working away in our home office, and I thought he'd appreciate a little afternoon snack.  I poured a glass of milk, grabbed a napkin and a fresh-out-of-the-oven cookie, then finally went to my cabinet and grabbed a small tray to place all the items on.  It was the tray that caught me off guard.  My mom had given it to me a few years ago.  It is a small metal tray with a Norman Rockwell print on it.  It is well used; you can see the knife marks in the center of the tray.  Growing up, my mom would serve me my after school snack on this tray every day.  Apple slices, cheese and crackers, and of course chocolate chip cookies too.  I stared at it imagining her lovingly preparing something simple for me to munch on and it actually brought me a lot of comfort.  My heart felt the twinge of sadness that grief brings, but I was also able to smile and not be totally pulled under the water. 

The Process of Grief

Mom with Hannah

Summer 2005

Today has been a difficult day.  It just has.  My dad and I have decided that it is time to start going through my mom's clothes.  I tried to do this job earlier in the summer, but it was just too painful, so I stopped knowing that I could always come back and finish the job at a later time.  I don't know which will be more painful though-- a closet full of mom's clothes or a closet that is completely empty and void.  I know that we can't hang on to her clothes forever, and that she would be happy to donate most of them (I've taken out a few things to keep).  I went over to my parents' house this morning to do a quick sort of what was left.  I went alone (never a good idea) and instead found myself holding articles of her clothing, breathing in their scent because they still smell like her.  I sat on her closet floor and cried.  I know that getting rid of things doesn't mean I am getting rid of her memory, but at times it certainly feels that way. 

After realizing what a huge task the closet will be, I decided I'd better leave it to another day when I can have some help with me.  I have my aunt and my good friends to help me be objective and decisive while also giving me room to mourn and take my time when needed.  Grief is certainly a crazy up and down process.  

Before I left, I decided to open up Mom's hope chest.  I haven't touched it yet because I know that it contains Mom's most treasured possessions.  Things like anniverary cards, letters, a quilt made by my grandmother, a few of my mom's childhood toys.  I opened it up and picked up a green journal on the top.  The first entry was dated February 1978.  It was addressed to "My Little Emily".  Page after page, my mom had written little notes about what I was doing and saying at different stages.  And most importantly she wrote out how much she loved me and how much she enjoyed being my mom.  I will share with you all some of the journal entries here one day.  They are so special to me. Once again I sat with tears streaming down my face as I read each one.  

I recently read that the more you avoid grief, the tighter it sticks to you.  I had been going along here lately trying my best not to think of things.  Trying to stay busy.  And in the process, Grief had been clinging to me for dear life.  Today I was able to slow down, allow myself to feel the pain, cry, sob and then stand up, wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and continue forward.  One step at a time. 



Mom

This picture of my mom was one of my favorites.  It's a school picture from her days working as an elementary school librarian.  I think she has a beautiful smile, and her eyes look bright and happy. 

I'm just missing her a whole bunch today.

An End And A Beginning

This is the last Friday in August, and I find myself in a strange sort of place.  A middle ground of sorts.  We've certainly enjoyed our summer, but I am definitely ready for fall.  For cooler weather, football, shorter days, mellow sunshine, cute cardigans and scarves.  But I sort of don't want fall to be here either.  Because it will be a year ago this fall that my mom went into the hospital and started the horrible, downward spiral.  Up until now, I can think back to a year ago and remember when life was "normal", when we were living our carefree lives together, not worried about the future. But when fall comes, and then winter, I will have to remember our cold, anxious days in the hospital.  The roller-coaster of paralyzing fear and hopeful expectation.  The long days spent sitting in a stale waiting room, or sipping a cup of coffee in the hospital cafe, or watching my mom struggle to breathe.  I am fearful that my good memories will get swallowed up by the bad.  I am fearful that I will forget what my mom was really like, but only remember her in a hospital bed.  It has almost been four months since she died, and with each month's passing, I feel a growing empty chasm between the day I last saw here alive and today.  With each day it grows wider and darker. 

I guess what I am trying to say is that there was an end.  An end to an era in my life.  An end to my life with a mother.  I sometimes get stuck in the end, in the growing void, feeling worried and sad.  But then I remember that this is also a beginning, a beginning of a new chapter in my life.  It is not a chapter I would have written for myself, but God ordained it to be, so I can lift my head and embrace this new beginning.

"Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. "  Philippians 1:6 

So Thankful

For the last two months, I've been attending a support group for women who have lost their mothers.  We've been reading a book entitled Motherless Daughters by Hope Edlemen, and it has been such an amazing experience.  Amazing and painful and emotional and tearful and wonderful all at the same time.  The women in the group range in age from 34 to 86 and everywhere in between.  Some of us lost our moms recently, like me.  Others thirty or fifty or even eighty years ago.  But the common thread between us all is that we all miss our moms.  We all want and need to be mothered.  Tonight we discussed the book's final two chapters, one of which was entitled "The Daughter Becomes a Mother:  Extending the Line".  This chapter explores how becoming a mother helps us reconnect with the mothers we lost as well as brings up a whole new cycle of grief.  We had a lot of interesting discussion.  I cried because I came to the realization this week that no one will love me like my Mom loved me.  I know this because I am a mom now, and as crazy as my kids can act sometimes, I will always love them.  When this thought hit me this week, I just sobbed.  But then I realized that I also have a lot to be thankful for.  Most of the women in my group lost their mothers before they ever had children.  I am SO grateful that my mom was there for each of my kids' births.  She was there in those first few sleepless weeks to help, give advice, or just hold a baby for awhile.  She was such a comfort to me during those critical times in my life, and I never want to take that for granted.

Mom and me at the hospital waiting for Hannah and Leah's arrival.  I look huge and tired (see the dark circles under my eyes?) and my mom was so excited to meet these much anticipated little girls!

December 2004

Shortly after they were born.....Mom holding Hannah and Dixie (my mother-in-law) holding Leah.

This is one of my favortie photos of all time.  There is just so much love here.

Mom gazing at Lucas.  "The most beautiful boy in the world," she used to say.

I think so too.

July 2009

An Important Marker

Last week my dad mentioned that the headstone was finally placed on my mom's grave.  And while we were out running errands a few days ago, we stopped by to take a look.  As much as I wish it weren't there, it is pretty and simple, which is fitting of my mom.  As we stood looking at it, reading the words, examining the picture, I wanted to shout, "This is an important marker!  My mom's life was important!!"  Instead, I let some tears flow freely and shouted the words in my head.  This is my mom.  She was so special.  So loved. Eveyone should be so lucky to have a mom like her.

And I think the best way to proclaim how important my mom's life was, is not just to shout it out, but live my life in a way that honors and reflects the characteristics that made her so special. 

I love you, Mom.  I miss you so much it hurts.

Last July

Later this week, we are going to embark on a family vacation.  Traveling together in the summer months has been a tradition.  And up until this year, we've planned a big trip with my parents.  Each trip has been fun, memorable, and relaxing.  This year, there will be an obvious void because my mom won't be with us.  My dad is coming, though, and I am so glad for it too.  We have all kinds of adventures planned in Colorado and South Dakota, and I am itching to get on the road, get away, and have some quality family time.

But before we leave, I thought I'd look back at some photos from last July, during our final vacation with all of us.  We kept it simple, staying right in our own backyard at Robbers Cave State Park in eastern Oklahoma.  It was simple and filled with all the idyllic things I could have hoped for-- a cozy cabin, beautiful surroundings, swimming, horseback riding, canoeing, paddle boating, exploring, playing cards, laughing, and just being together.  Let's take a look back shall we?

Our small, but perfectly cozy little cabin.

Me, twenty-five pounds heavier, and Lucas, one year younger!

My happy baby.

Grandma's Boy

Hannah and Leah on a paddle boat with Grandma and PaPa.

Sometimes I want to rewind, to go back and have things the way they were-- the way they were supposed to be.  I know it doesn't work that way, which is why I am so glad I can at least look back at photos and fondly remember our time together.  And I can look forward to making new memories soon.