Connor is not too far from completing his very first school year, Cadence does not need Pull-Ups anymore, Bonnie Marie has discovered boys, James got a great new job, Dana has a new boyfriend, Chris has 2, Kelly got a promotion, Dan is back to work. These are exciting things in life, however, they do bring the sadness, the reminder that my mom is not with me. Over these months since my mom let God take her home I have struggled with what I want my own life to be. I am still afraid to be alone in the dark and have a tendency to start most sentences with “My mom always…” I still feel alone in a room full of people and still see images that I would like to put away forever.
I truly feel like this first year is the challenge that decides whether or not you make it. I have been down every emotional gauntlet and managed to hold my head up and keep moving forward. I admit, I have stalled several times and given into those moments of self pity and thoroughly enjoyed them, it is always nice to just sit and cry about how bad you have it in life. Of course, once the tears stop I have to get my butt back into reality where I have the sweetest husband, two perfect children and wonderful friends all of whom miss me dearly when I stop off to visit the land of “Poor Me.”
Things are difficult without my mom. I always feel like a part of me is missing and I know it is obvious to others even when I try to hide it. A few weeks ago, Connor came home from school with a picture of a heart and a note from his teacher telling me how Connor had expressed his drawing to her; Connor had drawn “Mommy’s heart” all colored nicely in the lines except for one little section in the middle that he had left blank. When the teacher asked him why he hadn’t colored the middle of Mommy’s heart, Connor explained to her that that piece was missing because it was the one Grandmom had taken with her when she went to Heaven.
My children talk about my mom often and I do the best I can to explain the loss to them, but I know I come up short. Cadence informed me yesterday that she felt that Meemom had been gone long enough and that she needed to come back now. Explaining to your 4-yearl old that death is permanent is not fun but seems to be a daily conversation now. We discuss Meemom being in Heaven quite often and each day I experience the world from the wonderful perspective of my children.
While driving the kids to school on a rainy day, Connor asked me if it was raining in Heaven too, and when I told him that I supposed it was, he informed me that he believed Meemom’s umbrella was pink with purple flowers. His comment made me ache with loss but it also gave me the beautiful image of my mom walking in the rain under a pink umbrella with beautiful, purple flowers.
Mother’s Day is approaching much more quickly than I would like. I realize that I will miss my mom each day of my life but for some reason this holiday takes the breath from me. I don’t want to see others celebrating their moms when mine is gone from me. I know it is such a mean and selfish attitude to have and I wish I could help it; the thought that I will never buy another Mother’s Day card or wait in some insane line to have Sunday brunch is disheartening to say the least. It makes me realize that the permanency of death is not just difficult for 4-year olds to comprehend! I am at a strange spot in this whole grieving process, a place where I am afraid to move forward and scared to be left behind. I know my mom will never be lost to me but I do struggle with the fact that she is gone from me. I am afraid to move forward to that day in June where it becomes the 1 year anniversary of her death. I feel as though it somehow seals the loss, like there is no going back. It is a strange rationale, but I can’t escape it and I can’t stop it from sounding childish. I do not like being without my mom, simple and honest.
Sometimes, when I really hurt for her, I find myself posting something on her wall on Facebook. I know it is such a silly thing but my mom enjoyed the comedic relief of FB status updates and the opinions expressed so openly. So, I guess I feel like I am actually telling her what is going on in my life and that she in turn, is actually listening. I know that I have let this blog go for quite some time, I felt that this writing was to discuss my mom’s battle with PML and when she lost the fight it became about my grief and loss. Just like anything in life, you come to a point where you just have to find closure and move to the next chapter. I want to leave behind the images of my mom dying, the illness that took her and the hell that it put her and my family through. I want to shed the guilt that I carry when I think of things I should have done differently. I don’t want to remember the moment when my mom looked in my eyes and told me she was dying and asked me to make her arrangements. When I told her we weren’t there yet she steadied her speech and said “Jodey, you know more than anyone that we are there and I am asking you to do this because I know you can and will.” She was right, of course. I looked into arrangements and made decisions that I felt shouldn’t be made until she was gone; I did these things while she was still with me because she asked me. My mom did not give up easily, she fought for every last breath she took and defied each timeline set by her doctors. I will always wonder if she would still be here today if I had had more faith in her ability to beat this disease; the shame and guilt over my own acceptance is something I will always carry, alone.
Once I have passed the anniversary of my mom’s death I will close out this blog with my favorite memories of my mom and those will be the images I carry into my future. Mom is where every child’s story begins and mine is not different.
I truly feel like this first year is the challenge that decides whether or not you make it. I have been down every emotional gauntlet and managed to hold my head up and keep moving forward. I admit, I have stalled several times and given into those moments of self pity and thoroughly enjoyed them, it is always nice to just sit and cry about how bad you have it in life. Of course, once the tears stop I have to get my butt back into reality where I have the sweetest husband, two perfect children and wonderful friends all of whom miss me dearly when I stop off to visit the land of “Poor Me.”
Things are difficult without my mom. I always feel like a part of me is missing and I know it is obvious to others even when I try to hide it. A few weeks ago, Connor came home from school with a picture of a heart and a note from his teacher telling me how Connor had expressed his drawing to her; Connor had drawn “Mommy’s heart” all colored nicely in the lines except for one little section in the middle that he had left blank. When the teacher asked him why he hadn’t colored the middle of Mommy’s heart, Connor explained to her that that piece was missing because it was the one Grandmom had taken with her when she went to Heaven.
My children talk about my mom often and I do the best I can to explain the loss to them, but I know I come up short. Cadence informed me yesterday that she felt that Meemom had been gone long enough and that she needed to come back now. Explaining to your 4-yearl old that death is permanent is not fun but seems to be a daily conversation now. We discuss Meemom being in Heaven quite often and each day I experience the world from the wonderful perspective of my children.
While driving the kids to school on a rainy day, Connor asked me if it was raining in Heaven too, and when I told him that I supposed it was, he informed me that he believed Meemom’s umbrella was pink with purple flowers. His comment made me ache with loss but it also gave me the beautiful image of my mom walking in the rain under a pink umbrella with beautiful, purple flowers.
Mother’s Day is approaching much more quickly than I would like. I realize that I will miss my mom each day of my life but for some reason this holiday takes the breath from me. I don’t want to see others celebrating their moms when mine is gone from me. I know it is such a mean and selfish attitude to have and I wish I could help it; the thought that I will never buy another Mother’s Day card or wait in some insane line to have Sunday brunch is disheartening to say the least. It makes me realize that the permanency of death is not just difficult for 4-year olds to comprehend! I am at a strange spot in this whole grieving process, a place where I am afraid to move forward and scared to be left behind. I know my mom will never be lost to me but I do struggle with the fact that she is gone from me. I am afraid to move forward to that day in June where it becomes the 1 year anniversary of her death. I feel as though it somehow seals the loss, like there is no going back. It is a strange rationale, but I can’t escape it and I can’t stop it from sounding childish. I do not like being without my mom, simple and honest.
Sometimes, when I really hurt for her, I find myself posting something on her wall on Facebook. I know it is such a silly thing but my mom enjoyed the comedic relief of FB status updates and the opinions expressed so openly. So, I guess I feel like I am actually telling her what is going on in my life and that she in turn, is actually listening. I know that I have let this blog go for quite some time, I felt that this writing was to discuss my mom’s battle with PML and when she lost the fight it became about my grief and loss. Just like anything in life, you come to a point where you just have to find closure and move to the next chapter. I want to leave behind the images of my mom dying, the illness that took her and the hell that it put her and my family through. I want to shed the guilt that I carry when I think of things I should have done differently. I don’t want to remember the moment when my mom looked in my eyes and told me she was dying and asked me to make her arrangements. When I told her we weren’t there yet she steadied her speech and said “Jodey, you know more than anyone that we are there and I am asking you to do this because I know you can and will.” She was right, of course. I looked into arrangements and made decisions that I felt shouldn’t be made until she was gone; I did these things while she was still with me because she asked me. My mom did not give up easily, she fought for every last breath she took and defied each timeline set by her doctors. I will always wonder if she would still be here today if I had had more faith in her ability to beat this disease; the shame and guilt over my own acceptance is something I will always carry, alone.
Once I have passed the anniversary of my mom’s death I will close out this blog with my favorite memories of my mom and those will be the images I carry into my future. Mom is where every child’s story begins and mine is not different.
