Life without my mom is difficult to say the least. I miss her dearly and still have that horrible crushing sensation in my chest when I wake up and realize she is not going to be a part of my day. I do not want to make my life about surviving without my mom and I am sure in time it will stop being that, but right now I am just holding on. My days are falling into a routine which is a good thing but for some reason makes me feel trapped. Perhaps because life with my mom was anything but routine!—we did a million things on a whim or simply to say that we had done them. My mom really lived and when I have moved on to the next part of my journey I want my kids to smile and say the same of me. Throughout her entire life, my mom made things fun for us girls and it is not until now when I look at my own children that I realize she did it for her own happiness as much as for ours. On rainy days she used to strap on roller skates and we would take a few spins around the dining room table, never giving a thought to the scuffs on those beautiful hardwood floors or the last minute camping trips when she would throw a cast iron skillet in the car and we would be on our way! My mom did these crazy things because she knew that her daughters would find it fun and exciting, the idea of an adult just throwing caution to the wind. Although she taught us to be responsible, self-sufficient and considerate she made sure we knew that life was meant live.
My children are starting to come to the realization that their grandmother is not coming back. The questions about Heaven are more frequent and more detailed. They want to know where their grandmother is and why she is not returning. These moments are intense and border on impossible. I hate to look into my children’s beautiful eyes and see the comprehension of death and all that it brings. I can’t think of anything more painful than watching the look in Connor’s eyes as he comprehends. I see his eyes well up and his lip quiver and I know that he understands and is trying to adjust to such a loss.
Yesterday was a very warm Sunday afternoon and I brought the kids to play outside while James was grilling. Usually, James will be outside grilling while I finish odds and ends in the kitchen and the kids play in the living room. For some reason, since my mom died that ritual just seems unacceptable, so I hustled the kids outside to play while I sat on the patio with James. During our conversation James opened the grill and managed to get a face full of smoke that made his eyes tear. Cadence wandered over to ask James why he was crying and he told her that he had a little bit of smoke in his eyes and that made him cry. Satisfied, she went on to ask about an old scar that he has on his neck from a surgery performed when he was treated for thyroid cancer several years before we met. It has always been there and is fairly noticeable, but for some reason Cadence never saw it before this day. “Daddy, where did you get that scratch on your neck?” she asked. We explained about the scar and how it was just a mark left from having a booboo fixed and then watched as she thought this over. “Did a doctor do that?” she asked with “doctor” sounding like “docker” in her little voice, and when James told her yes a doctor had fixed the booboo for him she looked to me. “The docker didn’t fix Meemom.” I smiled sadly at her and explained that sometimes people are too sick and a doctor just can’t fix it. The thought of my mom missing her granddaughter growing up made me cry once again for the loss. Cadence looked at my tearing eyes and asked simply, “Mommy, why are you crying?” I told her it was because I missed my mom and she looked closely into my eyes and asked “Do you have a little bit of Meemom in your eye?”
I guess I do…
My children are starting to come to the realization that their grandmother is not coming back. The questions about Heaven are more frequent and more detailed. They want to know where their grandmother is and why she is not returning. These moments are intense and border on impossible. I hate to look into my children’s beautiful eyes and see the comprehension of death and all that it brings. I can’t think of anything more painful than watching the look in Connor’s eyes as he comprehends. I see his eyes well up and his lip quiver and I know that he understands and is trying to adjust to such a loss.
Yesterday was a very warm Sunday afternoon and I brought the kids to play outside while James was grilling. Usually, James will be outside grilling while I finish odds and ends in the kitchen and the kids play in the living room. For some reason, since my mom died that ritual just seems unacceptable, so I hustled the kids outside to play while I sat on the patio with James. During our conversation James opened the grill and managed to get a face full of smoke that made his eyes tear. Cadence wandered over to ask James why he was crying and he told her that he had a little bit of smoke in his eyes and that made him cry. Satisfied, she went on to ask about an old scar that he has on his neck from a surgery performed when he was treated for thyroid cancer several years before we met. It has always been there and is fairly noticeable, but for some reason Cadence never saw it before this day. “Daddy, where did you get that scratch on your neck?” she asked. We explained about the scar and how it was just a mark left from having a booboo fixed and then watched as she thought this over. “Did a doctor do that?” she asked with “doctor” sounding like “docker” in her little voice, and when James told her yes a doctor had fixed the booboo for him she looked to me. “The docker didn’t fix Meemom.” I smiled sadly at her and explained that sometimes people are too sick and a doctor just can’t fix it. The thought of my mom missing her granddaughter growing up made me cry once again for the loss. Cadence looked at my tearing eyes and asked simply, “Mommy, why are you crying?” I told her it was because I missed my mom and she looked closely into my eyes and asked “Do you have a little bit of Meemom in your eye?”
I guess I do…
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