One year...

October 30, 2013

For the past 4 or 5 months I’ve started several new blogs to post, but they all seemed to be repeats of the same blogs I’ve already posted.  I still miss you; I still think about you every day; I still talk to you all the time.  I haven’t cried quite as much as before, but I cry when I think of how much I wish I had my best friend to share my babies, my proud moments, my fears, and my life.

It’s so clear how much of a support system you were to me in so many aspects of my life. It’s been hard on me without you, especially going through this new pregnancy and finding out I’m having a girl...  Not to mention the consistent challenges brought on daily with Joshua [but just as much as his achievements] It still remains –all these things I want to share with you in this earthly life, in the now.

I had Joshua’s parent-teacher conference and his teacher said she will place a book on an overhead projector so the whole class can see the page and she will ask Joshua to come up and read the page to the class because he’s the only one in the class who can do it.  You’d be so proud of him and all that he has accomplished so far. 

I try to remember that there is a way that I can still share all this with you and know that you are with us, just in a different way.  It’s hard to understand what your heavenly perspective is like.  There is no way for me to know that except have faith.  I am comforted knowing that your presence has never left, and will never leave me, or our family.  We all have a soul, a spirit, and that spirit lives on and has capabilities beyond human understanding.  That’s how amazing God is.  Faith.  Love.  Belief.  It’s incredible to have that and to know our souls will never part, in one way, and will then be reunited in another.  It’s an earthly perspective, and then a heavenly one.  

I also believe you have held the soul of my daughter before she was even conceived.  We learn that God knows everything about us and our life’s journey before we are even born.  That is how I know our souls are manifested in God’s pure light, in his image, as our destiny.  My daughter will be named after you.  Lydia Alexis.  Dad reminded me that you were also named after your Grandmother, Martha for a middle name.  I found the little notebook you had in one of your hospital rooms where you jotted down future baby names for my second child.  Elijah James for a boy, and Lydia ________, for a girl.  We were playing around with charmed names like Paige and Prudence [of course]. 

I know you always liked the name Grace.

It’s funny how things turn out.

Sometimes all I crave is to hear your voice, or feel your hugs, or hear your laughter.  Sometimes I hear it in my head, but I want to experience it again in real time.  Every time I open your armoire I smell your perfume.  I’m pretty sure it’s forever engrained inside those drawers.  I certainly miss sharing everything with you and getting to tell you all about my daily journey as a Mom.

I still have so much to experience and to learn as a parent and I’m sad that you aren’t still around for a little more of it.    

Today Dad and I went to see the first sneak peak of the Epiphany Star progress.  I can’t wait to see it completed in its magnificence.  What a sight it will be at St. Paul’s.  My hope is that I will have the opportunity to have Lydia baptized while your star still shines for the first Epiphany Season of its beautiful life in our Church.  The stars are aligning with many things… how it took no time at all for me to conceive, which was around Mother’s Day, how I’m due around your birthday, how the Epiphany Season this particular year is lasting the longest it can last [8 weeks], when it’s sometimes as short as 4, but this is making it possible to have Lydia baptized under Nana’s star.  It’s very magical to me, so I’m trying hard to make it happen.  I also know I always need a plan b, so I’m learning to go with the flow on some things too. 

From my soul to yours, always connected in love.

I love you, Mom.  Forever & always.         

Beautiful & Happy Wedding Day, In your prime:  October 22, 1966. 

Promise to try

I remember listening to this song in the past, and crying a lot, thinking that this could be a reality one day.   This song is appropriate in so many ways... a lot of underlying meanings in some of the wording.  

For you, Mom.

“Promise to Try” ~Madonna 

Little girl don't you forget her face
Laughing away your tears
When she was the one who felt all the pain
 

Little girl never forget her eyes
Keep them alive inside
I promise to try -- it's not the same
 

Keep your head held high -- ride like the wind
Never look behind, life isn't fair
That's what you said, so I try not to care
 

Little girl don't run away so fast
I think you forgot to kiss -- kiss her goodbye
 

Will she see me cry when I stumble and fall
Does she hear my voice in the night when I call
Wipe away all your tears, it's gonna be all right
 

I fought to be so strong, I guess you knew
I was afraid you'd go away, too
 

Little girl you've got to forget the past
And learn to forgive me
I promise to try -- but it feels like a lie
 

Don't let memory play games with your mind
She's a faded smile frozen in time
I'm still hanging on -- but I'm doing it wrong
Can't kiss her goodbye -- but I promise to try

PS:  I'm working on an blog update for the weekend.

 

Happy Mother's Day

{I started writing this blog on April 30^th.  I’m finishing it on May 12^th.}

I can’t believe its been 6 months.

I know moving on is healthy.  I know that looking back and playing things over in my head during the times you were in the hospitals and rehabs don’t help much.  But, I can’t easily forget it all.  I mostly go through the days and not think about it, but there are times when I hit the “play” button in my memory and it’s sad.  I eventually hit pause again.  I talk to God, and you, and I think about your spirit now and how amazing your soul is in the eyes and presence of the Lord.  That makes me feel a little better.  But, I live in this sinful world where the Devil has a field day with my emotions at times.  So, I still hit the play button.

I replay things I said, or did.  I replay things you shared or the heartache and pain you endured. 

I can’t help those things are there vividly in my mind.  I want to go back and say more.  I want to go back and comfort you more.  I want to go back and hug you.  I want to go back and hold your hand.  The strongest thing I can have is my faith, and I’m glad that I do. 

I know for anyone who takes the time to read my blogs {my true letters to heaven} that so much of this is redundant and repetitive, but that’s because there’s still a huge hole in my heart.  My regular day to day life was affected when you got sick, and then affected again when you passed on.  The only difference between when you were sick, to dying was the hope that existed.

There was always some hope that you would eventually make it back home after proper treatment, rehab and healing.  I held onto that with every ounce of myself that it was always a possibility so I tried not to worry so much at the time. 

I think now I feel it was meant to be that I was not able to be at your bedside the night you passed.  All of the circumstances that fell in line to make that totally impossible were devastating to me for a long time.  I felt so guilty for going on the trip to Florida even though I knew you really wanted me to, and Dad had also encouraged it, but of course I still felt guilty.  But now, I’m starting to think it would have been too hard for me.  Dad even said maybe you wouldn't have been able to let go the way that you did if I was present.  I play it out in my mind like what if I had been there.  I don’t know if I could have emotionally survived it.  It was extremely difficult for me to even visit you when you were at Hopkins seeing you in that condition and unable to communicate.  I couldn’t deal with that very well at all.  It broke my heart.  It still does.

 

Going through this year it’s natural to think back to what was going on at this time last year.  It’s hard not to think back to all the suffering you endured, and still had yet to endure, as well as the medical let downs and how much you tried to get back to a stable path.  It broke my heart to see you go through 8 months of this.

Mother’s Day last year we had to visit you in one of the rehab centers and your spirit was so shattered.  It was gut-wrenching to see you in this place and hearing about the conditions and things that went on like the neglect and some mistreatment.  I didn’t always know what was going on until the email updates from Dad; but I could see it in your eyes.  I wish I could have just known the end result and taken you home to pass in comfort, dignity and grace.  I’m not sure why you had to go through the 8 months that you did in the ways that you did.  I’m not sure I’ll ever understand that.  But, everything happens the way it is meant to.  

I am comforted by the blood of the Lamb.  I’m comforted that you are saved.  I am comforted that you can jump for joy with freedom.  I am comforted that you are alive in Heaven.  I am comforted to know that you are always listening.  I am comforted to know that on my end of day, you will be there to welcome me into the Kingdom of God. 

We had Dad over for dinner today.  We ordered take-out from Mission BBQ, and I made the chocolate cheesecake [for the second time] that you and I were going to make but never did.

Joshua has been bringing home some wonderful art projects from school.  I would have been so excited to share them all with you.  And, he would have absolutely loved showing each one to you and telling you about it.  He loves to share like that.  I’m sad that we’re missing out on that time to bond with you, laugh with you, share with you and love with you.  Sometimes I just think wow it would be great to have Mom here for lunch or dinner, or just to spend time with Joshua like you loved to do.  I try not to dwell. 

 

We sang one of your favorite songs at Church today.  "Open the eyes of my heart Lord."  We sung this at your Celebration of Life service so it was a little emotional for me.  I felt your presence today a lot… I feel it now. 

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I love you so much and I miss you so much. 

Anniversary tulips from you & Dad, planted 4 days after your passing, in your loving memory.  Blooming beautifully this Spring.

Trinket box (Mother's Day gift) Joshua brought home from school.  I love how it matches the butterfly on the frame I gave you.