It's ok to grieve

In June my mother will have been gone from this earth for three years. It doesn't seem like it's been that long. Some days I roll through life perfectly fine, thinking of how she would have loved this or that, how much she would enjoy the beautiful weather.  And then others, for seemingly no reason at all, I will find myself struggling with even mundane tasks, like running errands.  She'll pop into my mind, my throat will constrict, and tears fill my eyes.  And suddenly I am struggling to keep it together.  

Grief in silhouette by Tim Green

When someone you love dies, no one gives you a manual.  You're usually given three days off of work to grieve them, and then it's back to the daily grind.  When my grandmother died, I thought the grief process ended that suddenly. That after just a little grieving you turned off your emotions and got back to the business of living.  Aside from her funeral and that first week or so, I can't remember ever seeing my mother or her sisters cry.  I thought they were over it, that it was done.  It wasn't until my mama died that I realized how wrong I was.  I was sitting at my Aunt Sue's house talking with her about when Granny (as we called her) died, and she began to cry.  I was shocked at first, and then so relieved.  I told her exactly what I just told you. That I thought they had gotten over it and just moved on. I had thought I must be doing something wrong because I was still upset over a year later.  She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "No".  

Light after Darkness by Jhong Dizon

It was like a switch flipped on in my brain. Grief isn't something you just do for a little while. It's something you will do the rest of your life, in different ways.  And that is OK. It's OK that sometimes I need to break down and cry. It's OK that sometimes I can remember sweet times with mama and be happy. There is no right or wrong way to do this, and best of all, there's no time limit. I don't have to "get over it" and move on.  I just have to live, one day at a time, sometimes one moment at a time, and living is all mama would want from or for me.  Just to keep going and live my life.

BMD, AMD

Time has marched on, and the day I have dreaded for a few years is quickly approaching. My sons will be moving out soon. 

Harry

I am both happy and saddened by this. My one desire for my children is that they would grow up to be strong, independent, productive members of society. I want them to have their own space, to know joy and embrace life. But I want them to do all of that while still under my wings, darn it!  Ignore that, that's the controlling part of me screaming, and the mothering part of me crying out.  Soon my nest will truly be empty. And this is one of those times that I find my heart crying out for mama. 

Kevin Jarrett

Sometimes it seems as if my life is measured in two sections. BMD: Before Mama Died, and AMD: After Mama Died.  Before mama died I have memories, lovely memories. And I have regrets. So many things I wish I had done that I didn't do. Why didn't we go try on wedding dresses? The only thing she asked to do, but we never found the time to do it. Why didn't I go visit her more? Force her to move in with me? Move in with her?  The why's and what if's would drive me crazy if I let them. So I shush them and just try to remember the good times. Her singing and dancing in the kitchen with me. The look on her face when we gave her the train she'd always wanted for Christmas. 

AMD is full of times I need her reassurances that this too shall pass. Like now. What was it like for her when we were all out of the house? How did she handle this aching? It's crazy, the things that I never thought to ask her before, but now, now that I am going through these things, I want to ask her. How do I handle this mama? What did you do?  

Moving on?

Mama has been gone 1 year, 3 months. That's 10,969 hours; 658,170 minutes; 39,490,200 seconds.  And still I miss her so bad at times that I will spend an entire week trying my best not to cry.  I wonder sometimes if I went to the doctor and told them how I feel if they wouldn't diagnose me as depressed and try to give me a pill to fix it.

Losing mama was the most traumatic thing I have been through thus far in my life. She wasn't just a parent to me, she was my friend. She was the first person I would call when ever I had a problem. And the first one I would call when I had some new and exciting news to share. She encouraged me, listened to me, and prayed with me, and I miss her terribly.

I confess that in the past I've been just as guilty of thinking someone who is grieving should "get over it" already. Your job will usually give you three days. You plan the memorial service, cry, and greet people you haven't seen in years, if ever. And then you're supposed to suck it up and move on. But loosing someone isn't that easy.

The night before my son had surgery on his ankle I wanted so desperately to call her. For her to tell me everything would be fine. I've heard people speak about forgetting that someone is dead so they'll start to call and realize they aren't there. I can't forget. I never forget. Every day it's a refrain that plays in my mind. "She's gone, she's gone, she's gone"  I never accidentally pick up the phone to call her. I know I can't. But I so desperately want to.  So very very badly.

The one thing her loss has taught me is that it isn't fair of me to put a timeline on grief, whether mine or someone else's.  Every single person, every relationship, is different. Whether you grieved a few days and moved on or are still grieving multiple years later, that is your journey. And it's one that we all must take on our own time and in our own way. And I don't want to feel guilty about missing my mama any more. I don't want to feel like it is wrong of me to ache at her loss.  I'll mourn for her as long as I need to, until I can move on.

Merry Christmas Mama

As Christmas draws ever nearer my days get longer and harder to deal with. Mama was born December 24th.  She was a Christmas Eve baby and I can't remember ever really celebrating her birthday with her. Of course we all would wish her happy birthday. And we would give her a gift when we were able. But there were no parties, no family dinners. It was always just lumped in with Christmas celebrations. How sad is that?  I regret that now, though I never gave it another thought then.  And I'm sure that she didn't either.

Christmas was mamas favorite time of the year.  She loved it. When she was still healthy and able the phrase "deck the halls" doesn't even begin to touch what she did. Mandy Lou always said that it looked like Santa puked all over the place lol. She decorated every tree she had in the yard. She would have a huge wreath hanging on the side of her house. Every single surface would be covered in tinsel and decorations. And when the day came she loooved the presents. Her greatest joy was watching the kids open theirs. And our greatest joy was watching her open hers. No matter what you gave mama she cried lol.  I remember one Mothers day we made her a DVD and gave it to her inside a box of tissues. We knew she'd need them. But you could give her anything and it could have been given the same way, with a box of tissues.  She loved the personal gifts the best. Things that you didn't necessarily buy but that you took the time to make for her. A letter, a card, a drawing; she loved and saved them all.

My Christmas spirit isn't gone, just running from me. I still love the holiday. I am anxiously looking forward to my kids opening their gifts.  But I find myself crying more, wishing she were here more often. All holidays may be difficult, but this will be the hardest for me. Because I always associated Christmas with mama. To me she embodied the very spirit of Christmas. And with her gone it's really hard to catch it.

I love you mama, Merry Christmas.

In loving memory

I apologize for the delay in my post. We had another loss in the family and I've been dealing with that and the feelings it brought back to me. In memory of those I've lost in the last year and a half.

"Uncle" Pat - July 2012

Pat passed away a little over a year ago.  She was an amazing woman, and my sister-in-law.  When my children were little they couldn't keep Aunt and Uncle straight. So they called her "Uncle" Pat and her husband "Aunt".  The moniker stuck and from that point forward she was Uncle Pat to every kid around her. She was my husbands best friend and confidant and her loss for him was much like the loss of my mother was for me.  Their childhood was not ideal and they only really had each other to lean on.  Through trials and separations they remained close.  She helped hubby through the loss of their brother. His first and closest friend, the one he'd been through everything with. And then she came back into his life again shortly before the death of their father.  She was his rock, and mine too. She had a quick smile and an even faster wit. She doted on her grandson and kept us all laughing with her silly jokes.  And we miss her greatly.

Uncle Danny - September 2013

Maybe you recognize the lady in this picture. That is my Aunt and her husband Danny. I swear that woman amazes me with her strength. After losing my mother barely three months ago her husband died suddenly.  Uncle Danny had fought a long illness and one of my biggest regrets is that I didn't visit them more often.  I remember him much younger than this, with curly blond hair. They had bought my cousin a horse for something, her birthday maybe? And he was trying to "break" it. I can see him clear as day in my mind. On the back of that horse and it bucking wildly. In my memory I'm laughing at the sight. But I don't remember if I was actually laughing at the time or just terrified that he was going to get killed. He didn't, and he did tame the horse.   I remember us going to their house once because they had a pig we were going to slaughter. I remember bits of this, not an entire picture.  I remember seeing a bunch of grown men chase a pig around the yard because it had escaped. Or maybe it was in the pen. I'm really not sure. But it's a funny memory and still makes me smile. When I think of Uncle Danny that's how I'll remember him, wild and free. He always made me think he stepped out of some macho movie. He was Chuck Norris to me before I knew who Chuck Norris was.   I thought he could do anything.

Mama - June 2013

What can I say about mama that I haven't said already? I miss her so terribly bad. I look at pictures of her and I cry. Because I can't go sit and chat with her. I try not to think about it. My way of dealing with the entire situation is just to pretend it did not happen. And then there are those moments when I am forced to face the facts. And they are hard. I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself not to think. To not fall into this abyss that is looming at my feet. I know she is in a better place. I know that she is no longer in pain, and she was in so much pain. I know that she is no longer short of breath or struggling in any way. I want her here. I want her to be better here with me.

The one crappy part about life is that sooner or later you have to say goodbye to the people you love. Whether it be saying goodbye to a loved one who has gone on before you. Or maybe your time is looming and you're saying your final goodbyes.   The only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that one day we'll meet again in heaven. By the grace of God and the forgiveness of Christ Jesus, one day...

Could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; and you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. ~ Khalil Gibran

If you're going through hell, keep going - Winston Churchill

~ Standing in the middle of the grocery store
~ Waiting at a red light
~ Doing laundry

It hits me at the most random of times.  I can be fine for days. And then suddenly my chest is tight and my eyes are overflowing.  She's gone. My mama is gone.  And I know as a good Christian I should be happy. She's in heaven, she has her reward.  But I'm not happy. I want her here. Heaven is a fabulous place from all I read.  But it isn't here. I can't go hug her. I can't call her and ask for advice. I can't call her and tell her how my day went or about the things that are worrying me or bothering me.  I can't have dinner with her.  All I can do is remember her. And I miss her.   God I miss her so bad.  And I don't want her back the way she was right before she died. The pale, weak, tired woman who was doing her best just to keep going. I want the vibrant woman who was here just last year.  Just one year ago she was full of life. She wasn't tired or wore down. She wasn't sick.  She was fine.



It seems as if I spent the last nine months always going. Never really taking the time to just be in the moment.  I figured if I stayed busy and pretended this wasn't happening that it would just go away. And it didn't. But my mama did.  I wish so bad I had every single one of those moments back. If I could just go back to one of the many times she said "Sit down and stay a while Julie".  One of the many times I said I couldn't. I had so much to do. So much stuff that needed done. And it all could have waited. Someone else could have taken Amanda to class.  The chores would have waited. I could have asked for more help from my family. I should have insisted on it.  I could have had a cup of coffee with mama. I could have cooked dinner with her more. More than once I told mama I was sorry. I was trying. I just had so much to do. "It's ok, I understand" She always understood. And what I wouldn't give for those moments back.

You know you always hear that you should treasure your loved ones because one day they'll be gone and you will wish you'd had that time back.  It's so true. It's so unbelievably true. I always thought that was a beautiful sentiment. And I was so sure I was living that way. Till I lost my mom and realized how much time I wasted that I could have spent with her.

Go find your mama, daddy, child, husband, wife, or friend and hug them. Tell them all how much they mean to you. And spend every moment you can with them. Because the moments spent with them are the things you'll remember. And the moments spent in pursuit of the perfect life will be the ones you regret.