Good Bye 2009

I felt it important to blog today as the year comes to an end.

I think it's always important to reflect on a year when it ends and to look hopefully into the new year.

I've always loved New Year's Eve. Probably more than any other holiday. Maybe it's because I love the idea of new beginnings.

Even though tomorrow is just another day, it feels like the start of something new, something fresh. Tomorrow is a new year. It's a new decade. 2010. It's amazing really.

I was watching a news story about when the festivities were cancelled at the Seattle Space Needle 10 years ago. I had completely forgotten that! As we entered the year 2000, there was fear of terrorism and the festivities were cancelled. I remember how sad I was about that. I never go to the Seattle Center at New Years and had no plans to go in 1999, but it felt like something was different that year. Thankfully, the festivities were back on the next year and have been ever since.

It's been 10 years since we were all so concerned about Midnight 2000.

This decade was a huge one for me. It was my 30s and it was a time of finding myself which is often not painless and that was certainly the case for me. Just when I thought I had finally figured it out, for the most part anyway, my mom got sick.

Gosh I remember New Year's Eve last year. We started moving at 8am and finally finished at 5am New Years Day. But even with that horrendous move, I was so hopeful for 2009. I was really looking forward to it. And then 2 and a half months later, mom was diagnosed and everything about the year changed.

And looking back, it is mostly a blur. A blur of trips north. A blur of hospitals and procedures. A blur of countless phone calls. A blur of months where so much was said without any words being spoken.

What still isn't a blur and is still very visible in my mind is the picture of my mind lying in the hospital bed in the living room. And her lying there after she had died. And the sound that is still very clear in my mind, when it wants to go there, is what it sounded like when she died. None of that has faded. I'm not sure it ever will.

2009 will always be the year I lost my mom. Nothing will ever change that for me. It's what 2009 will always symbolize.

2009 is also the year Olly lost his grandmother.

2009 is the year my home was burglarized and I lost a lot of security.

But 2009 will also be the year when I let go of a lot of old baggage because there was just no reason to carry it around anymore. I feel lighter since I let it go. I wish it hadn't taken cancer to make me realize how unimportant it all was and how silly it was to carry it around for all those years.

2009 will be the year I grew up in so many ways. It will be the year a new me emerged...a stronger, wiser me. I am not the same person I was when 2009 began. It's incredible really how much different I am from the person I was one year ago today. Life experience has a way of doing that to you I guess.

2009 will be the year I took the leap and started back to school. It will be the beginning of another life transformation for me. When I receive my degree in August of 2011, I will look back at 2009 as the year I took the first step that started me back towards my degree.

In 2009, my sons turned 7 and 11 and I turned 40. I love my boys' birthdays. They are always so much more fun than mine. But I had been looking forward to mine this year. I was looking forward to 40. Instead I spent the week before my birthday in a hospital room with my mom who was rarely lucid. And I spent my birthday with her at home when she was still really confused and not sure why I was there. It wasn't what I had anticipated. I would like to look forward to 41 this year, but I've found I'm a little nervous to plan anything these days for fear of what one phone call may hold and how it may change everything again. But, nonetheless, Christopher will be 8 in 12 days and I always love his birthday because it's something to kind of bring us down from the holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years all end and then we still have Christopher's birthday to enjoy early in the year. It's a great way to start the year and I'm very much looking forward to it this year.

In 2009, I was present at the birth of 23 babies, one of whom was my nephew. 23 babies who celebrated their first holidays this year, who are celebrating their first New Year with their parents. There were some hard births and a couple of sick babies, but everything turned out beautifully in the end. I was able to share births with several repeat clients this year and one of those had her baby on my birthday.

And that is why I write today. I could look back at 2009 and only see it as the year I lost my mom. That would be easy to do. It was a very, very hard year. Not just for me, but for many people. My facebook page is filled with people posting about how ready they are for 2009 to end. Just in the last 2 months, the Seattle/Tacoma area has lost SIX police officers. It has been devastating. I know I am not the only one that has lost someone they love this year. I am far from alone in my grief.

But 2009 was filled with happy tears too. I was a part of 23 family's lives on one of the most incredible days ever. 2009 gave my family about 5 more months with my mom than we thought we would have and many good times were had in those months. 2009 brought a wonderful police officer into my life whose care and concern for my children was touching in ways that I will never be able to explain. 2009 brought a week of fun with my children as we played tourists in our own town and just enjoyed being together. 2009 included many, many, many childbirth classes where I got to do what I loved. Not everyone can say they have a job they love. 2009 reminded me that I have a man in my life who loves me unconditionally, who will stand by me through anything and will not let me fall even if he has to hold me up himself. 2009 included so much in the way of friends and family. I feel closer to so many of them than I did at the beginning of this year and have been reminded that we all need to make time for one another.

So, yes, 2009 was hard. It was the year I lost my mom. Lots of people lost someone this year. So many of us witnessed hard to understand things this year. So many shaken heads, not understanding this world sometimes.

However, although tomorrow may just be another day, it is a new year, full of new hope. Will bad things happen in 2010? Of course they will. But good things will happen too...just like they did in 2009. More babies will be born. They are the beacons of hope for our future. I have four clients due in the next 2 months and already have clients lined up throughout the year. 2010 will hold 48 weeks of school for me. Hard work for sure, but rewarding in the end. In 2010 I will turn 41. It will be my first birthday without my mom and it will be hard. But my mom gave me this life, and I will celebrate it!

Our family's year begins with my dad's birthday tomorrow. I just got off the phone with him. He sounds so sad. But I am grateful he is going out to dinner with the couple he and mom have spent New Year's Eve with for the past 15 years. They usually got a hotel room and stayed up playing bridge. But you can't play bridge without 4 players and they've lost one of their players this year. Nonetheless, I'm so glad they are still doing dinner. I told dad to go and laugh. It's what mom would want him to do. And he agreed. Tomorrow I am heading up early to dads to take down his Christmas tree. Then we're all heading to lunch where Michael and Kiersten and their boys and Kiersten's parents, Karen & Andy will join us to celebrate dad's birthday. We will celebrate dad without mom being physically present. But she will be there in spirit, of that I am certain. She wouldn't miss it.

Today I am incredibly grateful that what seemed like a pretty miserable cold yesterday is clearing itself out quickly so that I will have the energy to get up early tomorrow and be able to help dad with getting the Christmas decorations down. Yesterday morning I felt terrible and was concerned that I had more than just a cold. But I spent all day lounging in bed which I NEVER do and it's pretty remarkable what rest can do for a body. I'd forgotten that as 1) I don't really like to spend an entire day in bed and 2) I rarely get an opportunity to do it even if I wanted to. So when I'm sick, I usually have a class to teach or a birth to attend or something else to keep me busy and I don't often get to rest and recover. I did that yesterday and it WORKED! :-) I'll be making dad's cake today and getting laundry done and the boys packed for their dads this weekend, but other than that, I'm still going to try and take it easy today to keep giving my body time to recover. By the first day of 2010, I intend to be feeling even better!

I'm glad to see 2009 go. But I refuse to look back at it as only the year I lost my mom. That would negate all the good that took place this year. And although it was hard for me to find at times, every time I attended a birth or my children made me laugh, I found joy and the world brightened a bit for me.

There will be more joy this year. And I'm sure there will be some hard times too. But I look forward to 2010. I refuse to let the difficulties and hard times of 2009 take away my hope for brighter days. I have some things I am highly looking forward to in 2010 and I believe it will be a good year. I hope to look back at this time next year and look fondly upon 2010.

I am strong. I know that now. I have survived a year that I once thought I could never survive. I am still putting one foot in front of the other. I am still living. I am still laughing. I am still finding the joy in the midst of dark days. I am making my life better. And I know my mom is proud of me.

2009 was a tough year. But it was also a year filled with love, life, and learning. I am proud of the person I am as 2009 ends. A year can't be all bad if it ends that way. As I've said before, the human spirit is pretty amazing. It allows me to find that truth in a year when I lost my mom.

Goodbye 2009. I learned a lot from you. You will be a year I will never, ever forget. You took a lot from me, but I refuse to let you take my hope for the future.

I'm ready for you 2010. 2009 made me very strong. I will survive what you have for me too. But, it would really be great if you could maybe go easy on all of this year and throw in more joy than sadness. I'd love to look back on you a year from now and discuss what a great year you gave the world. :-)

Today, on the eve of the beginning of 2010, I hold out hope for a wonderful year filled with smiles and happiness. I wish that for myself and my family and for all of you and yours.

May we all greet 2010 with hope and open arms believing in the good the world has to hold.

Another unexpected first

In some ways it's almost funny when something pops up and I realize it's the "first whatever" since my mom died.

Today, it's the first time I've been sick without my mom. I've managed to stay healthy throughout most of the year which is pretty impressive considering the stress I've been under. It's amazing my immune system has held up as well as it has.

I suppose I'm due for a cold. And it's really just a cold. But I feel run down and tired and vulnerable and really miss not having my mom to commiserate with.

Whenever I used to get sick, I'd call my mom and talk to "nurse Nancy". No one takes care of you like your mom does when you're sick.

I'll never forget one night that I was spending at mom and dad's. I was 21 and had been out drinking and over did it. I showed up at their door and said, "Mom, I'm drunk." Mom brought me in and put me to bed. In the morning, she brought me water and chicken soup to help with my hangover. It still makes me laugh. Only a mom could love their child through a hangover like that.

She always knew when I wasn't feeling well. She could see it in my eyes. She knew when I was pregnant both times. She could see that in my eyes too. That, too, is something only a mom could do.

I haven't lived with my mom for 21 years. But she could still make me feel better over the phone when I was sick. I'm missing that a lot today. And it snuck up on me. This is one of those things that just pops up out of nowhere and hits me unexpectedly.

No one takes care of you like a mom does. I'll never have that again. And I'm admittedly tired and emotional today, but the reality of that sinking in makes me incredibly sad.

Christmas survived...almost

I didn't think Christmas was going to bother me as much as it did. I don't know why.

And it didn't bother me in the way where I desperately missed mom. I just wanted the holiday over. I just needed it to be done.

I had a good day. We had a great breakfast up at dads with Michael and Kiersten and my adorable nephews. There were smiles and laughter.

But there was a part of me that just needed it to be over. It's like living in a parallel universe where we all just go on with our lives, but the other side of us knows there is a visible absence.

I stopped at the cemetery on the way up early on Christmas morning. Olly and the boys stayed in the car. I just wanted to tell mom Merry Christmas. And I did. And I sobbed. Again. I was surprised by the reaction, just as I always am. It's silly really, but each time the emotions bubble up, I find myself surprised.

There were a couple of other people at the cemetery early on a Christmas morning. It felt sad. Almost as if I had joined a club I didn't know existed. The club of people who visit a cemetery on Christmas morning. And I believe that club carries a lifetime membership.

But I survived the day. I'd like for it to be over. I need for it to be over. I'd like to get all the Christmas stuff down, but for everyone else, it will stay up a little longer. And I'll survive it. It's only a few more days. I'm looking forward to it being over though. I want this Christmas behind me.

This last week of the year is usually my favorite. New Years Day has always been my favorite day. New beginnings. New hope.

2009 began with a move that took us 21 hours. It was not a fun New Years Eve. This year I'm looking forward to staying home and celebrating the entrance of 2010. Last year I really thought 2009 was going to be a great year. I was turning 40 and looking forward to it. And then in March everything changed with mom's diagnosis. There is a part of me that is terrified of what the new year will hold, but the other side of me is thinking positively and believing this year will be better than last.

There are definitely things I'm looking forward to... I am just a little afraid to get too excited. I suppose that is normal.

I have enjoyed this first week off from school. Olly and I finally went through all the boxes in the garage. Now it's just some organizing and we might actually be parking our cars there instead of just using it as storage! :-O And I finished all my financial paperwork that I really fell behind once mom got sick. It has been a productive week. Productive feels good.

So, I survived Christmas. Dad's birthday is next. I know that will be a hard one for him. But we'll all be there to help him through. I'd like to get him to the cemetery soon. I think that would be good for him. I think I've got an edge on Michael and Dad because I visit mom fairly often and it's hard and cathartic at the same time. They don't get that sort of therapy.

2009 is nearly gone. It will always be the year I lost my mom. But I'm ready to let the year go. I'm ready for a new year. I'm ready to keep moving forward.

Just gotta get that Christmas tree down...

2 steps forward, one step back

I really feel like I'm doing well most days.

Then I have a moment when I realize what seems like a long time has ONLY been 2 months. And there is much work to do.

I made it up to see dad yesterday. I stopped at the cemetery at 8am. It was quiet and the sun had just come up. I brought my mom her poinsettia leaves for the holiday. As I pulled up and parked, the tears started coming. I walked the path to where she is and they started flowing. I placed the poinsettia leaves in her vase and touched her name and was sobbing. I stayed that way for about a half hour.

It was the first time I have visited the cemetery alone and perhaps the first time I've been able to just let go and not try to hold it together for someone else. I was surprised by my emotions. But looking back, I probably shouldn't have been. It was a good release that had probably been a long time in coming.

I had a hard time leaving which has never happened before either. I felt like I was leaving her alone, even though I know she is not truly there. It's just the one place where I feel closest to her...although I do feel she is with me often. But this was my time alone with her with no one else around and I didn't want to let it go.

I finally said my good-byes to mom and headed north to dads. I spent about 4 1/2 hours up there just talking with dad. We did a lot of reminiscing. It was really our first time alone since shortly after mom died and I think it was good for us too. We talked a lot about the day mom died. It was good for both of us being that we were the only 2 people there, we are the only two people that understand what it was like for the other one.

Dad has also put together a Christmas letter. As Christmas cards started to come in this month, it became obvious that there are people that don't know about mom's death. So, dad put together a lovely, but heartbreaking letter that he is going to send out with some cards. Lots of tears flowed as I read it.

More tears flowed as I was able to see their high school alumni newspaper and it's tribute to mom. It was incredible and beautiful and heartbreaking too.

It was a day full of many tears, but also laughter and smiles.

We are surviving. We are moving forward. But as we take those steps forward, there are still many steps back that need to be taken. I've decided that's okay and to be expected.

Christmas is in 5 days. The weather looks like it should be nice. Dad and Michael and I will survive it. It will be different. It will be hard. Mom will be noticeably absent. But we will laugh and we will smile and we will celebrate Christmas through the eyes of mom's four grandsons. And I know she will be looking down on us and smiling with us.

2 Months

Two Months

In some ways it seems so much longer and in some ways it seems like yesterday.

I am incredibly disappointed that I won't be able to make it to the cemetery today, but the weather report is looking questionable for snow and I'm not wanting to chance it. Of course, if I don't go, there will be no snow, but if I do, then I'll get stuck somewhere. Seattle area snow is not an exact science and whenever it is in the forecast we never actually know how it will play out. I've been stuck in snow more than once and I would rather it not happen again. Dad is having some flurries this morning which tells me that something could manifest itself.

So, I am staying home and working on my last week of school work before I have 3 weeks off. I am looking forward to those 3 weeks. No clients due, no school work to be done. It is the first time I will have had off like that in a very long time. Although I'll admit there is a part of me that wonders if not having things to occupy my mind will allow me more time to think about things that maybe I don't want to think about. Thankfully I still have some classes to teach. And I know that right after those three weeks are over, things will pick up quickly with school and clients. I've got several births that I'm looking forward to attending in January and February. With births and a tough term coming up, I will have plenty to keep me busy for the remainder of the winter. :-)

I miss my mom every day. But the tears don't come as often. Although on Friday, dad told me he got their high school class newspaper that one of their class members publishes. This issue was 11 pages and 4 full pages were devoted to mom. I fell apart as he read me some of it. He and I cried together. Just when we think we're all doing better something like this comes up and reminds us we all have a lot of work to do.

I will make it up to the cemetery next weekend and will go visit dad. I'm going to buy a poinsettia and cut off a few leaves for mom. She loved poinsettias.

I know she understands why I'm not there today. And I know I don't have to be at the cemetery to mark this day. But I still feel sad about it.

I think it's finally set in that my mom is gone. I've lived 2 months of my life without her. But it's amazing how much you can miss someone. Every event that occurs without her is different and it's so obvious she is missing. We survived Thanksgiving, but now it's Christmas and then dad's birthday and Christopher's birthday all back to back. Her absence will be visible. And as I sit here, the tears still flow.

I've accepted that she is gone, I just don't have to like it.

But I'm moving forward. This term at school has seemed even harder than last term which has been surprising for me. But when I get tired of it all, I push through because I know how proud mom was and I am determined to complete this for both of us.

I am surviving without my mom in this world. I still laugh and smile. But there is a hole in my heart that will never heal. I will carry it for the rest of my life. And that's the way it should be when you lose your mom. It doesn't stop me from living, but it definitely changes my life. I believe I quoted this before, but Patti LaBelle said, "A girl never really becomes a woman until she loses her mother". I really feel this these days. I grew up, I moved out, I became a wife and mother. But somewhere I was always my mother's daughter. When I was sick, I called my mom because no one can make you feel better like your mom can. I can't do that anymore.

When you lose your mom, it transforms you. I'm sure I was a woman before, but not the woman I am today. Not the woman who now walks the world without my mother. I feel stronger internally and externally. I feel I have to be that way because my ultimate protector is gone. It's as though I have developed armor. Not in a way where I am protecting myself from people, but in a way where I am just stronger because my mom's loving arms that used to surround me are no longer there. I have had to develop a replacement. Because without that protection the world seems a harder place. When mom was dying and then right after she died, I felt so weak and powerless and unprotected. It's a hard feeling to explain, but I felt sort of raw and lost in the world. When I look back it was as though someone could have touched me and I would have just crumbled into dust. Over the past couple of months, this armor has surfaced. It isn't armor that makes me hard. It's just that protective cover that used to be from my mom. I feel wiser and I see the world differently. It's not a good or bad different. It's just different.

I know I can live without my mom. That's empowering. But that doesn't mean it's not sad and hard a lot of times. But every day is a new day. There is still good in the world. Amazing things still happen. I just wish my mom was here so I could share those things with her. But I know she sees me. I know she is still with me. I know, in some way, she does still have her protective arms around me...and maybe that's my armor now...it's still my mom...just differently. I don't know. But I know that when I cry, she cries with me and hurts for me. And when I move forward and I live and smile and I laugh, she smiles and is happy for me.

And that will never change. That I will have for the rest of my life. It's a different relationship. But somehow, I still have a relationship with my mom. I would like my old one back, but I no longer have dreams of that actually happening. I know she is physically gone, but I don't think my mom can fully ever leave me. I have a hole in my heart, but somehow I carry my mom there. She is always with me. The stronger me, the wiser me, the new woman I am. She is there...somewhere.

I've learned a lot in two months. I wish I hadn't had to learn it all. But life is all about learning and growing and we have to take what we are given.

I miss my mom in ways that are too hard to even describe. But I am living without her. Some days I really hate it. But on more days now, I understand it and I know I have to move forward without her. It's what she would want. It's the way she raised me. It's me becoming a woman in this world living without my mother. I am not the first one to do it and will not be the last. It's a journey we all take if life works the way it's supposed to. Some have had to do it at a much younger age than myself. Some get many more years with their mothers. But we all have to walk this road sooner or later. Our choices are to let it stop us in our tracks or get up and keep moving forward. I'm glad I've chosen the latter. It's not always easy, but nothing truly worth doing or having is ever easy.

Two Months. I miss you mom. But thank you for giving me the upbringing you did that enables me to grow and be strong and to live in this world without you.

Moments

It's only been a little over a week since I last posted, but that week has held numerous moments.
The Saturday after Christmas, Olly and I pulled out all the Christmas stuff and put up our tree. I was feeling good about it. It felt right. And then I opened a box. A box I wasn't prepared for. A box I hadn't even considered. It was a box that contained many different things that my mom had given me over the years. And it paralyzed me. I couldn't move. I couldn't pick them up. I couldn't touch them. I just cried. For about 15 minutes, I cried. I knew what was in every box and I remembered receiving them all from my mom, but I had forgotten about them, and to see them staring me in the face took my breath away.

And then I moved forward. I took out each item, one at a time and had tears over each of them. I held them and I touched them and I felt close to my mom.

Sunday, we made a trip up to see Dad. On the way, we heard the story on the radio of the 4 Lakewood police officers that were killed. It was devastating.

I stopped and put some fresh flowers at the cemetery. That's not easier yet, but I suppose I shouldn't expect it to be.

When we were up at dad's, I asked him, in sort of a round-about way what he was thinking about decorating for Christmas. I was pleasantly surprised that he said he felt like he wanted to put up the tree. He said he knew mom would want that. So, Olly and I and dad put up the tree. I was so glad it was there. I put out all of mom's snow globes...many of them I had purchased for her.

I cleaned both dad's bathrooms and we got the sheets washed and changed on his bed. And then getting up the Christmas tree...well, it was a productive day. I hope to get back up there this Sunday. It will be the two month anniversary of mom's death. Two months. In some ways it seems so much longer and in some ways it feels like yesterday.

The other thing I did last week was attend a hospice loss support group. And what I learned from that was that I'm either better or worse than I thought I was. I haven't quite determined it. But I couldn't really wait to get out of there. It wasn't bad. It was actually a wonderful group. But I didn't feel that it was helpful to be in a group of people who are all grieving. It felt like SO much. It felt bigger. I can only handle my grief right now. Listening to others felt too much. Maybe with all the attention over the loss of the Lakewood officers and then the group...I don't know...I just know it was too much. So, I'm not going back...at least not right now. I feel good about that choice and glad I made it. I really thought the support group would be helpful, but it just wasn't right for me at this time. Maybe later...

As I was typing this, I broke out in tears. The rehashing of things apparently struck a nerve. I took a break and checked my e-mail. There was a message from one of my dad's friends. His wife was close friends with my mom and she died shortly before my mom after a very quick battle with pancreatic cancer. He has been doing a good job taking care of my dad and is a great support for him as someone who truly understands what he is going through. He simply sent a quick note to my brother and me which was so sweet. He included a poem that had helped him. I, of course, cried as I read through it. But it's beautiful. And it's how I'll end things here today.

IF TOMORROW STARTS WITHOUT ME

If tomorrow starts without me, and I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,
While thinking of the many things, we didn't get to say.

I know how much you love me, as much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me, I know you'll miss me too;

But when tomorrow starts without me, please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name and took me by the hand,

And said my place was ready, in heaven far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind all those I dearly love.

But as I turned to walk away, tear fell from my eye,
For all my life, I'd always thought, I didn't want to die.

I had so much to live for, so much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible, that I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays, the good ones and the bad,
I thought of all that we shared and all the fun we had.

If I could relive yesterday, just even for a while,
I'd say good-bye and kiss you and maybe see you smile.

But then I fully realized, that this could never be,
For emptiness and memories, would take the place of me.

And when I thought of worldly things, I might miss some tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did, my heart was filled with sorrow.

But when I walked through heaven's gates, I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me, from His great golden throne,

He said, "This is eternity and all I've promised you."
Today your life on earth is past, but here life starts anew.

I promise no tomorrow, but today will always last,
And since each day is the same way, there's no longing for the past.

So when tomorrow starts without me, don't think we're far apart,
For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in your heart.

First Holiday

I survived Thanksgiving.

Today I am incredibly thankful for that fact.

The build up to Thanksgiving was long and painful.

Wounds were opened and I felt raw and vulnerable.

But I survived.

I felt quite often that I had so little to be thankful for this year. It's the year I lost my mom. How do you find things to be thankful for when that is the overwhelming theme of your year? But I made a mental list yesterday and I learned that, yes, my mom died this year and that is painful but my list of thankfulness includes:

* My children. God, how I love those boys. I have no idea how my life ever existed without them. Their laughter is contagious and makes me smile every day. They are quirky and loving and funny and smart and inquisitive and give meaning to my life. I am so thankful I have the honor of being their mother.

* Olly. Never in my life could I have imagined being a divorced mom. I never wanted that for my children. But I have found through the journey of divorce and finding myself, that I deserve to be loved wholly. Olly has helped me understand that. And he doesn't love just me. He loves my boys too. That is such a gift. He has stood by me this year, literally and figuratively while I lost my mom. He has never complained about the fact that I have often been distant or not fully present. He has accepted my grieving for the past 6 weeks and has quietly been there for me, sometimes holding me up when I wanted to crumble. I am so thankful that he is part of my life.

* My dad, my brother, my sister-in-law, my aunts and uncles, my cousins. Although I am incredibly sad that my mom is gone, I am so thankful I still have my dad. And I am thankful for the new relationship he and I have established over the past year. It is closer than it has ever been. Mom's illness and death has also strengthened my relationship with my brother. We are two different people and have grieved and mourned differently, but we are the only two people in the world that can understand what it is like to lose OUR mom. And my sister-in-law and I have become so much closer. We talk more often than we had in the past. She was a blessing to my brother and our family throughout this past year. She also is mourning the loss of her mother-in-law...all the while raising two little boys...one of whom she gave birth to during my mom's illness. She is amazing to me and I'm so glad she is my sister-in-law. I spent the holiday at Aunt Linda and Uncle Bill's house. I can't explain how much that meant that they invited my little family of 5 to invade their home and celebrate the holiday with them. I couldn't be with dad and Michael and was a little sad I wouldn't have more family around on Thanksgiving. But then Aunt Linda invited us and yesterday held so much laughter. It was exactly what I needed. I found myself sad at times and missing my mom, but I also felt surrounded by family and that was such great comfort. I feel like in the loss of my mom, I have had the opportunity to reconnect with family that I had been away from for so long. I love my e-mail exchanges with Aunt Judy. They give me insight into who she is as a person, and they give me more insight into who my mom was and they give me some more insight into who I am as well. They are a blessing to me. I love that I have reconnected with cousins that I haven't seen in years (Cousin Kim, we definitely need to get together SOON! I haven't forgotten! :-)). I am thankful for the amazing family I have.

* Friends. Wow, I have an incredible group of friends who I have learned will do anything for me. They have listened to me this entire year. They have hurt for me. They have wanted to ease my pain, knowing that sometimes they just couldn't. They have stood back when they needed to stand back and they have surrounded me with their arms, literally and figuratively when I needed it the most. They have learned that I don't ask for help, so they have just offered it. They have just given it, somehow knowing what I needed the most. I am so thankful for their friendship and love.

* Hospice. There is no way a list of what I'm thankful for this year could not include Hospice. What they gave my family was invaluable this year. That organization is incredible. If you are looking for some place to donate money this holiday season, please, please consider your local Hospice organization. The gifts they give to families are incredible and I am so thankful they were there for my mom and my dad and my brother and I this year and continue to be there for us.

* My work. I have the greatest job ever. I have been given the gift of coming into people's lives during one of the most amazing times. I have met so many wonderful couples through my childbirth classes and my clients. And many of them have offered me reciprocal support during the loss of my mom. That was hard for me to accept because I am supposed to be their support. But they have reminded me that we are all here on this earth together and giving and receiving support is important to us all. I am so blessed to have the greatest job on earth. A job that sustained me financially but also emotionally and spiritually through the loss of my mom. Since my mom's diagnosis, I was a personal witness to the birth of 16 babies. I still have one more to go this year. And I have several clients into the new year with whom I have been sharing their pregnancies and their ups and downs. What an incredible job I have. I received the news that my mom had cancer 10 minutes before the start of a childbirth class back in March. I somehow taught that class. And I was able to do it because I love what I do. I have taught many more childbirth class series' and newborn classes and postpartum classes and breastfeeding classes since then. Sometimes I felt I have taught while I was numb. There were nights I rushed home from the hospital in Everett in order to run in and teach a class. I had to flip a lot of switches in my brain from my mom to my classes, to my clients. But I was able to do it because I connect with my classes. I connect with my clients. I truly care about each one of them. And I am blessed to do what I do. I am so thankful for the amazing career that I have. It has sustained me in more ways than I could possibly explain.

* School. Okay, maybe I'm not thankful for it every day. But I am thankful that I have found a way to pursue my educational dreams and goals that will enable me to do even more work that I love in the future.

* Random acts of kindness. From my dad's next door neighbors who check on him and bring him food, to the president of his homeowner's association that checks on him and takes him to lunch, to dad's church and their support, to my co-workers and how they know exactly what to say. The kindness of random people this year has been, and continues to be, overwhelming.

* Growth. How I have grown this year. How I continue to grow. The transformation feels physical sometimes. I see the world differently. I live in a world without my mom. I hate it. But it is what I have been given and I am rising to meet this challenge. I fall sometimes. But I get back up. And that's the important part. And each time I do it, I grow some more. I hate not having my mom. But I do not hate life. If anything, I treasure it more. I am thankful for that.

* The Sun. The fact that even in November, the sun finds a way to shine now and then (like right now) continues to remind me that the world continues to rotate. The sun will come up again tomorrow even on the darkest of nights. I am so thankful for that enormous star in the sky.

* Starbucks. Okay...a little humor...but boy have I been thankful for them this long, exhausting year. :-)

A week ago, I was sad and feeling sorry for myself. Today, I am still missing my mom. As I made a big Thanksgiving breakfast yesterday I couldn't stop picturing my mom on holidays making us a big breakfast. I LOVED those breakfasts. The smell in my house took me back to being a young girl and many tears flowed over bacon and sausage yesterday morning.

But in my moments of pause, I realized how much I have to be thankful for this year. It was, most definitely, the hardest year of my life. And yet, there is ALWAYS something to be thankful for. And for me, there is so much. I will never, ever stop missing my mom. Ever. But my life has to go on without her. I have much grieving to do. But I do it surrounded by friends, family and love. How could someone not be thankful for all that I have?

I hope you all were able to celebrate and give thanks for all that you have in your life as well.

I survived my first major holiday without my mom. I have a couple more big ones following right in line. I am not looking forward to them. I know they will be hard. But I will face them head on. And I will survive them too. And I will continue to give thanks for all that I have.

Reaching out

This has been an odd couple of weeks with so many ups and downs. I think the holidays have had more of an impact than I thought they were going to have on me. I have found myself in tears at random times. I've also found myself thinking I was doing really well.

Grief is odd. And new for me. And like with many new things, you have to experience it to truly learn about it.

I teach childbirth classes. Childbirth classes are preparatory classes. That's it. I have no absolutes for people. All I can promise is that their baby is coming out. I don't know how or when or anything else really except "norms" and everyone has their own personal experience. Ultimately in order to truly understand childbirth, you have to experience it.

I feel as though hospice did their best to prepare me for the death of my mom. They gave me the preparatory information, but they had no absolutes. They could give me "norms" but, as with birth, everyone has their own experience in grief. Ultimately, in order to truly understand the process of grief, I have to experience it.

Last week I finally decided this was bigger than me and it was important to get some support. I provide support to laboring families. I spend most of my life encouraging parents to surround themselves with the support they will need both in labor and postpartum journeys I finally decided it was time to take my own advice and reach out to find support through my journey of grief.

I spoke to a local hospice bereavement counselor for about a half hour. She sent me a ton of wonderful information that I poured over. I believe I'm going to try and attend a couple of loss support groups. Just like new moms find other new moms to support them through their process of becoming a mother, I am learning that I need others experiencing grief to support me through my journey of living without my mother.

It felt good to reach out. It felt good to take my own advice. It felt empowering and as though I was taking care of myself.

I am living without my mom. Every day, I get up and go about my life. But I miss her. And grief impacts a body and a spirit in more ways than I first understood.

No one knows when they will go into labor, how long their labor will last, what it will feel like, how they will react to it, or how it will change them until they experience it.

Grief is such a strange parallel to birth. No one knows how they will enter the journey of grief, how long it will last, what it will feel like or how they will react to it or how it will change them until they experience it.

I've said it before but in order to labor effectively you have to give in to the process. In order to grieve well (yes, I do believe you can grieve well), you have to give in to the process.

I'm learning.

I'm growing.

I'm giving in.

I'm reaching out.

I'm transforming.

And I will come out of this on the other side.

Stronger. Wiser. And with a true understanding of the process of grief.

It's a lesson we all have to learn sooner or later.

Every time I do a birth, I feel as though I am giving back a little of what my own Doula gave to me at Jonathan's birth. I will never forget the feeling of comfort and support I had as she slept on my couch after I had been sent home from the hospital for being too early in labor. I remember sitting on my floor having her time contractions and tell me what a good job I was doing. I know now that she must have been exhausted, but she never gave up on me. Truly every single birth I attend, I think of that night and I am honored to be able to give back.

I hope that one day, my learning process into grief will allow me to help someone else through their own grief process. I hope that all the lessons I learn in the arms of people that care will enable me to surround someone else with support and care so that I can continue to give back some of what I have been given.

One Month

It's been one month today.

In some ways I can't believe it's already been a month. In others it seems like forever ago that she died.

Dad saw her again the other night. In the middle of the night. Walking in their room. She is looking over him...taking care of him in some way. I know she is.

I miss her every day. I've come to terms that that will never change. And I don't want it to. I never want to stop missing her.

The boys and I drove to the cemetery today. I debated not going, because the weather sounded iffy. But I'm so glad I did. I received a phone call yesterday that her engraving was done. When I got off the phone a bubble of emotions came up and out of me and I cried for about 5 minutes. I felt like that was a sign that I truly needed to go today. I took some flowers with me and I'm so glad I made the trip. It certainly made things even more real to see her name in granite. But I loved the flowers once I placed them in there and it felt like I was taking care of her in a sense. I will do everything I can to get up there once a month to make sure there are fresh flowers.

I've survived one month. We've all survived one month without her. I still hate it. I still cry. I still worry about my dad. But we're all surviving. And missing her every day.

Ups and Downs

It's currently 1:30am. I am up waiting for a client to let me know she's ready for me to join her. She called at Midnight to tell me her water broke.

I was planning to blog yesterday but the day got away from me. It's probably not smart to blog at 1:30am, but I'm doing it anyway.

Yesterday was a tough day. I'm not fond of the hard days. I was missing my mom a LOT. And I was having a day from hell where nothing could go right. And even the little stuff seemed so much bigger than it was. Everything seemed to fall out of my hands. I fresh, full, big mug of hot coffee slipped from my hands and splattered all over the kitchen and it nearly sent me over the edge. I found a picture of mom and dad in my closet and cried because I missed mom so much. It was just one of the hard days I guess.

Going back a few days...our house was burglarized on Thursday. I swear that when your mom dies you should just get a free pass from other crazy stuff for a while. But I guess that's not the case. The boys and I had gone to homeschool bowling. We had been gone about an hour and a half. When we got home, I checked the mail and then opened the front door. I hear a sound I couldn't place for a minute and then realized it was the door alarm on the back sliding glass door. I peeked around the corner to see the stick out of the door and the screen door open. I immediately ushered the boys out of the house and called 911. The police showed up quickly and entered the house with guns drawn. They swept through it and then waved me in to show me the damage. Someone threw 2 bricks through our kitchen window. One of them shattered the glass door of the oven so between that glass and the window, there was glass everywhere. They exited through the sliding glass door.

On first glance it seemed they only got our Wii. When Olly got home, he found his camcorder missing. Over the week we've found a couple of other things missing as well. I know it could have been much worse, but Olly's camcorder contained his sister's wedding and the Wii...well...Jonathan saved up for that Wii. Olly told him if he saved up 1/2, he'd pay for the other half. Jonathan saved up $180! So, the burglers really stole directly from him. And the look on his face was heartbreaking.

The police were incredible. Forensics came out and dusted for prints and took pictures of foot prints that were left in the house. I think they were actually in the house when we got home and I surprised them. That makes me a feel a little better than to think they watched us leave. But I think of all the trips up to Everett and Arlington when I was gone entire days. If it had happened then, they would have cleaned us out.

So, let's move on to more pleasant things...on Friday, I went and saw Julie & Julia. It was playing at the old theater in Tacoma and it was a great movie and so much fun. The theater was packed and yet, there was an empty seat next to me. I wanted to believe mom was sitting there watching with me. I had many moments during the movie where I got teary eyed because I could truly hear my mom's reactions to various scenes. I'm really glad I went. I just wish mom had been able to go with me in a more physical sense.

This grief stuff is definitely odd. Some days I feel so strong and put together and others I feel like a blubbering mess. I do think that right now my stress level is extra high so that's not helping things. I'm so glad one of my clients is delivering finally. I have 2 others due that I think will go before the end of next week. Everything was starting to stack together and make me nervous and then my stress level rises. Even though I do truly believe everything will work as it should, I still get worked up. I'm a work in progress. ;-)

I was hoping to drive up to the cemetery on Friday. It will be the one month anniversary of mom's death. But I'm not sure if I'll make it with my client load. I'm just waiting to see how I feel about it all. I do know I don't have to be at the cemetery to feel close to her. It's just sort of symbolic for me. It's so odd to think it's only been a month. In some ways it seems so much longer. In other ways, it feels like yesterday.

For the last several months, I've had a bag full of snacks for the boys. We'd bring it to the hospital with us so they'd have snacks while waiting in the waiting room during mom's paracentesis procedures. We'd bring it with us to Arlington. It was our snack bag for all our trips up north. It's been sitting in my living room since mom's funeral. I unpacked it for the first time yesterday and put the bag away. Crazy how something simple can be so hard.

And yet time moves on.

My client just called and said she's ready for me so I'm heading out.

Life goes on. New babies are born. The circle of life continues. And I get to be a part of it all.

Days go on

The human spirit is an amazing thing. In the face of great sadness, it just keeps going. I know I've said this before, but it's still surprising to me. If you had asked me 5 years ago, how I would do without my mom in this world, I would have told you I couldn't survive. I had imagined the idea of losing my parents and the idea itself would make me crumble.

But here I am now, having lived without my mom for 21 days and I'm okay. I am living my life. I am moving forward. I have found it is possible to live without a mom physically present.

I don't like it. I get mad. I get sad. But I am doing it.

I have to think that all I have been through in the past 5 years was preparation for this time of my life. I am a much different woman than I was 5 years ago. I am stronger. I am smarter. I was living in a sad world where I had lost myself. I believe I clung to my mom so deeply back then because I needed "my mommy". I needed protection, even though I didn't understand it at the time. I needed the one person who loved me unconditionally. I had lost so much of myself. She was my connection to who I was somewhere deep inside of me.

And then the world turned on its end and I had to grow and change. I didn't prepare mom for that. She was thrown. Neither of us saw it coming, but I think I felt it from deep within. I should have warned her. But I didn't. And so, she had to come to terms with the new me. And it wasn't easy for either of us.

But these days I can't help but wonder if all of that was necessary so I could survive now. I was able to become a woman who still needed her mom, but had grown enough that I could survive without her.

I don't want to though. I really don't. I was walking to the mailbox today and it hit me out of the blue, like it tends to do... my mom is gone. I'm 40 years old and everything I deal with for the rest of my life will have to be dealt with without my mom. I hate that.

And yet, I know I can do it.

I just wish she was still here.

I got my first term grades last week. 97.4 in Astronomy and 99.6 in Sociology. I HATED Astronomy. It was so much math. So many calculations. I thought it would be an easy class and it was SO hard. I wanted to drop it the first week, but I was determined to get through it. And I got an A. An A! I worked hard for that A. And I wanted to share it with mom. I sat in front of my computer and cried over that grade. I cried because I was so proud of myself. I cried because I pushed through all my doubts in that class. I cried because I wanted to call my mom and tell her.

I believe she knows. I believe she was right beside me when I got those grades. But I wanted to hear her reaction. No one can give you that feeling of immense pride and accomplishment like your mom. She was genuinely proud of me for going back to school. And I wanted to hear it. But I never will again. And so I have to settle with her words I hear in my head. I have to settle with the "feeling" I get that she is nearby so often.

The woman I was 5 years ago would have crumbled. The woman I am today has moments of crumbling and then I get back up and I go on. I feel a transformation happening that I don't have words for right now. But it is a true transformation.

I worry about my dad daily. He is so lonely. His loss is greater than anyone's. I have known my mom my entire life. But I only lived with her for 19 years. My dad has had my mom at home every day for 51 years. He's known her for 68 years. I've lost my mom. We all expect that some day. I feel like I've lost her way too early, but I knew someday I would lose her. But my dad...he's lost the love of his life. He sees her physical absence every day. He told me he was dozing in the chair in the living room and woke up and swore that mom was sitting in her chair next to him. He blinked his eyes and she was gone. But I told him to maybe she was there. I like to believe it's true. But she can't take the lonliness away. I'm so worried about my dad. Maybe that gives me the ability to put my loss into perspective again.

My mourning will take its own path. This is another journey in my life that will ultimately transform me again. I suppose that's what life is all about. I am a survivor. I will continue to be a survivor. I will miss my mom every day, but I will keep moving forward. And I have to believe that my mom is watching and supporting me and is so very proud of the woman I have become.

Grief

This grieving process is definitely something new for me. Yesterday was mom's cemetary service. I felt an incredible amount of peace having her finally at rest. I felt that sense of peace for most of the day. I thought that maybe I was moving forward. I thought I was making good progress.

Then the sun went down. As I laid in bed last night with the world quiet all around me, my head started spinning. It almost felt like a movie was playing in my head. You know when you watch a movie and they show you all the things flashing through someone's head? That was my head last night. I was seeing the hospital room where mom got her paracentesis performed. I was seeing the way she looked at me. I was seeing the color of the fluid for the first time when it changed to red and I knew something was up. I was seeing her at home the last couple of times I saw her before she died. I was seeing her wither away. I was hearing the sounds she made in her final moments. Intermixed with all this I was seeing little moments from times when I was growing up. It was all just a second of a glimpse of everything and it was moving fast and around and around. And then I was seeing dad all alone in their house. He told me he was lonely last night. I hurt for him. I saw happy times of them together. All of it was just spinning and spinning around in my head.

And then the tears came. And I didn't want to let them come. I have said here before that I cry. It's what I do. At mom's funeral I was a blubbering mess. I couldn't stop crying. I thought maybe I had let most of it out. But rationally, I know that's not true. Last night I just didn't want them to come though. I felt like it was going to be a waterfall of emotions and I wasn't ready. And so I pulled it together and somehow willed myself to sleep.

Today I am tired. So tired. Emotionally and physically.

When I teach labor to parents I explain that it is a full body experience. It involves your body, your mind, your soul. It's not just physical pain. It is truly a full body experience and people have to respect that in order to get through it. I explain the same thing about postpartum. A woman's body is recovering. She may feel good, but she has to remember to take care of herself because her body is recovering from a major transition.

It seems this is the same with grief. I've just started the process, but it is obvious to me that it is a full body experience. It's not just my mind involved in this. It is my physical body and my soul as well. Getting up in the morning is HARD. I don't have the energy to work out even though I know I need to.

I started my new classes on Sunday and am struggling with putting together sentences. I'll get through it, but it's harder than it once was.

Yesterday I thought I was doing well. Today, I feel so sad again. Maybe today is the hardest because Olly is back to work for the first time since Friday and it has been a busy few days. Friday we went up to Arlington, I picked up mom's ashes, we stayed in a hotel and spent time with family. Saturday was mom's funeral. Sunday was actually a day of rest, but Olly was home with me. Yesterday was mom's cemetery service.

Today really is day 1 of moving forward. It's been two weeks since mom died. Two weeks ago I was making the trek up to spend some time with dad and help him with mom. And she died.

In those two weeks, I have also done a birth, taught two classes, did 4 doula related appointments, took 2 finals, finished my first term at school, and started my 2nd term. What I probably haven't done enough of is rest and mourn. I know I probably should. But my mind just doesn't want to do it.

Two weeks. It honestly seems like an eternity in some ways. So much has happened in those two weeks and now life starts to return to "normal". Even more normal than the last 6 months. There are no more paracentesis appointments. There is no more waiting and wondering. Although I'll still be calling and checking in on dad twice a day, I'm not terrified of making that call. Life will return to a new normal. A normal where my mom is no longer here on this earth. It's not really a normal I want, but it is what I have.

And perhaps that normal is what terrifies me now. But it may be the thing that gets me through this. Tomorrow is the last of my 8 days off. It went fast. Right now, I'm not feeling ready to get up in front of a class and be "on", but I know that once I'm there I will fall right back into it. I have already noticed that some stories I tell that include my mom will change. I can't, and don't want to, pretend that she is still alive. So, even my work will change. But it is my work. And I love what I do. I have 3 births coming up. I'm ready for those. I'm looking forward to them. I need them. Those births remind me about the beauty of LIFE. I had planned to take December off, but may pick up one more birth simply because I want to.

And so as life returns to it's new normal, I am thankful for all that I have to keep me busy. But it's obvious that the grief will find it's way in when it can. At night. In the silence. And then I think about dad who doesn't have all that I have to keep me busy. I told Kiersten that it seems so unfair that we have so much to keep us busy that we can't stop to grieve and my dad needs something to keep him busy so he doesn't have to sit alone in that house only thinking of all he has lost.

Nonetheless...we all have to grieve. We can push it away and push it away, but it will find its way in. And I have to allow it in if I want to work my way through it.

It is a full body experience, and like labor, you have to work with it and not fight against it.

It's not easy in labor. It's not easy with grief. But the really important stuff in life is never easy.

Mom's Funeral (w/video link and copy of eulogy)

It is the day after my mom's funeral. It's still feeling awfully surreal and I am processing SO much. Her service was so beautiful. She and my dad are loved by so many people.

Olly and I went bowling last night because I just couldn't stand the idea of staying in. I needed to see people living life. I, myself, needed to live a little of my own life. I realized yesterday that it has really been on hold for the past 6 months. I've been afraid to have fun. I've been afraid to live. I've been paralyzed with fear over the idea of losing my mom.

And now that loss is a reality. And I have to figure out how to move forward. Tomorrow is mom's cemetery service where she will be given her final resting place. After that...I need to start taking forward steps. Slowly, but deliberately. It is what my mom would want.

I decided last night that every June 6th (mom's birthday) and every October 13th (the day mom died), I will make a trek to one of our local casinos and I will bring a roll of quarters. And I will play until they are gone. I am not a gambler. I work too hard for my money to stick it in a machine and watch it disappear. It always made mom a little sad that I didn't have the gambling gene. ;-) So, twice a year, I will sit at a draw poker machine and gamble a little bit with my mom. I know she will be sitting right beside me cheering me on.

Thank you to all of you who made it a point to tell me how much this blog has meant to you. I was touched. I did start it for myself. For my own personal therapy. And it has served me well. But I'm glad that many of you have received something from it too. I intend to keep blogging as I make my way through the grieving process. I hope you will all share that journey with me as well. It gives me comfort to think I'm not walking this path alone.

For those of you who were at the funeral and asked for copies of Michael's Eulogy and mom's video...and for those of you who weren't there and who might like to see the video that Olly and I put together and read Michael's amazing eulogy (I wish we would have videotaped it...his presentation was incredible)...here you go...

Mom's Video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxfhCYkL8PA
(The first song is Address in the Stars by Caitlin & Will and the 2nd is Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy)

Michael's Eulogy

This past summer my wife and I took a vacation to the Washington Coast with some of our closest friends. We all have two year olds, so we consider vacationing together kind of a support group.

Knowing Gus, I figured he would be initially cautious, but once he got a flavor for splashing in the water, he’d want to get right in. This concerned me. So I did some research.

I learned about sea creatures, winds, swells, and other such matter. Then I read about rip tide and what I found surprised me.

It turns out if you get swept up in a rip tide, if you try to swim against it you’re doomed. If you fight it it’s useless. You’re only hope to survive isn’t to swim, it’s to let it take you – you need to completely let go.

This operates against logic, against human will.

To fight it is futile. You have to surrender to it to have any hope.

When Mom was first diagnosed, I thought the decision on what to do next was obvious:

You fight it with all of your strength.

Go in swinging, go down swinging.

Doctors didn’t give her much in the way of hope. Her chances were slim. Fight it and you have maybe a year, and it wouldn’t be a very pleasant year. Don’t fight and you have a few months.

But this is my Mom we’re talking about. Stubborn. Resolute. Iron-willed.

And yet after a flirtation with a protracted battle, she did the unthinkable and she just stopped.

Stopped chemo, stopped taking her blood pressure medicine, ignored her diabetes. She stopped fighting against the tide.

She let go.

This is my Mom we’re talking about. Realist. Practical. Wise.

I can’t say that I agree with her decision, but I recognize that she gave us a gift. She let go in order to make full use of the time she had left. So instead of the next chemo appointment, the next meeting with doctors, the next round of being too sick to get out of bed, she connected with her friends, she was visited by family, she got to spend time with her grandchildren Jonathan, Christopher, Gus. She got to hold little baby Ike.

She went to the casino.

She ate pizza.

She even drank beer.

She let go so she could live.

With this decision, this gift, we were able to simply love her during her remaining time and reflect on what she meant to us.

In thinking about Mom’s life I realize that she was the master of knowing when to let go.
Mom entered nursing school in a class of 43 and only 18 graduated. It was a grueling program. Students needed to study, intern, many worked on the side to earn money. She was good at what she did and she enjoyed it. One of my favorite stories that Dad told me years ago was that Mom would get home from work and leave a note about where they were going out with friends. Dad would get home a time later, change, see the note, and drive separately. They’d have fun all night, race each other home, wake up and swear they’d never do it again until my dad saw Mom’s note that night after work. And they’d do it all over.

I tell you this story because Mom had an endearing line she used to like to tell Kelli and me. “My life was really over when I had you kids.” And then she’d grin and look at us with adoring eyes and say “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Mom never wanted to be a cook. She didn’t want to shop for groceries. She didn’t want to vacuum, clean the bathroom, do the laundry. She didn’t want to do back-to-school shopping. She didn’t want to discipline.

But she did it.

She let go of her career, she let go of her fun, and she became a Mother. Because she was selfless.
I recall being in first grade and my buddy Andy wore a key around his neck and I asked him,
“why do you wear that key around your neck?”.

“So I can get in my house,” he said rather incredulously

And I said, “You mean your mom won’t let you in the house?”

I never knew what it was like to not have Mom at home, there waiting for me, to take care of me, to ask me about my day. What I learned. What I liked. What I discovered.

Mom had a knack for knowing when things were beyond her control.

I remember being a young boy... and let’s just say my Mom and my sister were having trouble seeing eye to eye. Mom did the best she could but there wasn’t much she could say or do that would derail my sister’s determination to be her own person. I recall Mom telling me, “honey, I love your your sister but I just can’t fix her right now.” And she let her go. I believe it was this decision that allowed my sister to make her own choices, grow up, learn from mistakes, and mature. It’s why she became the empathetic, intelligent person she is today. Mom let her go to let her grow.

I also remember wondering why Mom cried so much when I was leaving for college. It wasn’t as if I was going to Central. I was only going 90 minutes north. I’d certainly be coming home for a good meal and to do my laundry on the weekends. It was much later that I realized that she cried because she had to let me go – she had to let me go and make my own mistakes, my own decisions, and learn from them on my own. When other Moms called night after night, mine let me call her – and I credit her for that.

Helen Hunt Jackson wrote:

Motherhood is priced of God, at price no man may dare to lessen or misunderstand.

When I first read that, the understanding part struck me – it reminded me of something I wrote for Mom that I never gave her.

Last year, I started to write her a letter for Mother’s Day because I was now a parent and I had a new respect for her with Gus in my life. Ironically, I never finished it largely because I have Gus in my life. In reading it over, so much of it seemed appropriate for today. I’d like to share some of it with you now.

Mom, I understand how you must have felt when I was born and they told you I wouldn’t survive.

I understand now why you always read me one more book before bedtime if I asked.

I understand why you didn't want me to play football.

I understand why going out for pizza on Saturday was so important to you. You didn’t have to cook for us – and prepare two different meals: one for Kelli, and one for the rest of us.

I understand why you spoiled me.

I understand why you couldn't stand my hair long in college.

I understand why you forced me to go to confirmation.

I understand why you asked me to clean up my room. I also understand why it upset you when I never did.

I understand why you always made me send thank you notes promptly.

I understand why you couldn’t come to my baseball games because you’d throw your back out.

Mom, I still don't understand gazpacho, but I understand why you made it. Because Dad liked it.

I understand what went through your mind when you heard the tires screech outside our house when I got hit by that car.

And Mom, I hope you understand why the first thing that I told the medics was that Mom was going to kill me.

I understand why every time I left the house, you told me to "be careful". And as if I couldn’t look at the gauge myself, you asked if there was any gas in the car.

Mom, I'll never understand why you packed two kids into a 1981 VW Rabbit and drove 800 miles to Reno Nevada, but I'm sure you had your reasons.

I understand why you didn't like some of my girlfriends.

I even understand why at Christmas time you always hung that picture of an ox that Kelli made in grade school even though it really had nothing to do with Christmas and it barely looked like an animal to begin with. I get it now.

I understand now why you always shopped on the sale rack.

I finally understand why you sobbed when I broke that ugly green vase that sat on top of our 1960's television in the basement. It was the last thing your mother had given you.

I understand why you had a well stocked bar.

I understand how much you cared for us.

I understand how much you loved us.

I finally understand all the sacrifice. And Mom, I was going to say that I don’t know what I’ll do without you – but in fact, I do know what I’ll do without you. I’ll honor you by attempting to live up to your example, and you all can do the same.

To be selfless.

To sacrifice for those you love.

To be loyal to your friends.

To be loyal to your family.

To love your family almost to a fault.

To know when to stand and fight.

And to have the wisdom to know when to let the tide take you.

Perspective and more pain

I have mentioned here before that a Doula acquaintance of mine has been struggling with a terrible, aggressive cancer in her 14 year old son. His battle has been going on about as long as my mom's. His name was Sam. And Sam lost his battle today.

I am heartbroken. I never met Sam except through his mom's blog. But I feel his loss.

And it is bringing up so much pain. And anger. And yet, there is perspective. My mom was too young to die. She just was. She had so much life yet to live.

But 14??? That doesn't make sense at all.

The pain I feel at the loss of my mom is sometimes unbearable. But the idea of losing one of my children is a pain my heart and brain refuse to let me even try to imagine. I grabbed both my boys and held on for dear life tonight. I can't imagine my world without them in it.

I am hurting for this Sam's family. His mom and dad and brother and sister. I am hurting for myself and my family. I am hurting for the loss of two people that should still be here. I'm questioning so much right now.

And yet, I am also envisioning my mom welcoming this young man into Heaven...telling him she is new too and showing him around.

None of it makes any sense. All my wounds feel open and raw tonight.

I am just so incredibly sad.

Firsts

I apparently am now defining my life in the "first since my mom died" moments. There was the first night trying to sleep after my mom died. The first morning waking up without my mom. The first class taught since my mom died. The first grades since my mom died. The first birth since my mom died. Today was my first grocery trip since mom died.

It's odd...it's how I define everything these days without really even thinking about it.

The grocery store was tough today though and reminded me that it's time to start going easy on myself. My stress level is incredibly high and my patience level is incredibly low. I don't have time for the rudeness of people. I found myself taking lots of deep breaths just trying to make my way through the process.

It's as if my life stopped and started over the day my mom died. There is my life WITH my mom and my life WITHOUT my mom. And they are two completely different worlds. At some point, far down the line, I assume they will meld together in some ways. But right now, they are so starkly different.

And my shoulders...my poor shoulders. I have always carried my stress in my shoulders and by about this time every day, they are just aching. I am trying SO hard to deep breathe and release stress, but the stress is winning. I am wiped out every day by about 3pm. I sleep hard and am refreshed by morning, but ugh...it's getting to me. I can't run much longer.

Tonight is a prenatal appt with clients and tomorrow I teach and then I'm done for 8 days. Done. Completely done. I hopefully will even be done with school for this term. I finished one class today. I hope to finish my other tomorrow. And then I can let go for a bit. I can just feel all the things I'm trying to avoid right now for fear that if I start to melt, I just might not stop and I still have things to do. But the emotions are building, bubbling...just waiting to erupt. I'm afraid of what this is going to look or feel like. I've seen bits and pieces. It's something I've never felt. It's so new and scary. All of it. And yet, what choice do I have but to make my way through it?

The funeral planning continues. It's odd planning my mom's funeral while birthing and visiting with clients and doing my finals. Again...it's like two different worlds.

One day I'm going to laugh and really feel it again right? I mean, I have laughed. I have smiled, but it doesn't feel the same on the inside...as though the pain just eats the happiness up from the inside out. I assume that will get better. I know my mom would want me to have happiness. I know she wouldn't want me sad all the time. But it's not as easy as that. I underestimated this pain. I really did. It has a life of its own and it's powerful. I'm trying to be stronger than the pain, but it seems like a battle I can't win.

And so I just keep experiencing the firsts. I keep seeing this world through different eyes. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. Heck I even did a small workout this morning. But everything seems so different. And lonelier. I can't even imagine what it's like for my dad. I have my kids and Olly to keep me company. He just has phone calls. It makes me really sad to think about it. We both talked yesterday about how we think of things to tell mom and then instantly are reminded she's not here to tell. I hate it.

Olly is working hard on a beautiful photo montage for the reception after the funeral. I picked the music and the pictures, but he's done the majority of the work. And I have yet to be able to get through the first few pictures without bursting into tears. Mom's funeral is 5 days away. I don't know how to get through my mom's funeral. It terrifies me. But, as with everything else, what choice do I have? It still feels all so surreal. My head feels so foggy all the time. Decision making is impossible. The little things don't feel little.

I WILL get through this. I know that. But this is harder than I imagined. Harder than I expected. And sometimes it just seems too much.

I feel like I can't miss her any more than I already do...and then each day, I still miss her more.

Be nice to your kids...plan your funeral.

So, today I made another trek up north to go through the funeral preparations with dad. I stopped at the cemetery on the way up to sign some papers. The person at the cemetery sat with me for some time and then took me out to the area where mom and dad had purchased their niche for their urns. I wasn't sure I was ready for it. I was all alone and unprepared. But I am SO glad I did it. The cemetery is absolutely beautiful. Even in the very ugly weather we had today, it was incredible. I felt such peace. I see myself spending many days up at that cemetery walking the grounds with my mom's spirit right beside me.

My parents arranged for everything. I remember not wanting to hear them talk about it back in 2001 when they purchased their niches and paid for everything at the funeral home. I remember feeling it was morbid and I just didn't want to hear it. But, wow... everyone should do this for their children. There have been no questions of what mom wanted or where she wanted her final resting place to be. They handled it all years ago. It has been an incredible blessing for Michael and me. Please, please do this for your children.

The funeral service is pretty much taken care of. Today dad and I just needed to pick out readings and psalms, etc. Just a few things have to be handled and then it's done. The church provided a very simple template and it was fairly easy.

Dad and I went out to lunch afterwards and we talked and cried together. The cemetery gave me a wonderful handout on grief and it was the best thing I've read about what it feels like to grieve. It discusses that it can be months before you feel like you can tackle the little things. That none of that stuff is important. That was good for both me and dad to read. It also mentioned you can often feel like your head is in a cloud of cotton. That was sort of stunning for me because I haven't been able to explain how I feel, but THAT is it!

I have arranged for a day off tomorrow, unless my client goes into labor. I'm looking forward to that. I may just stay in my pajamas and do a little studying and a lot of just "being". Michael and Kiersten will be visiting with dad which makes me happy.

Today was an okay day. I did a lot of crying on my trip up and back alone in my car. Spending time with dad was good for both of us. I'm slowly learning to take better care of myself. I feel a great desire to laugh. We're planning a little get together on Friday night with family to simply laugh before mom's funeral the next day. It is what my mom would want and it will be good for all of us.

Mom's obituary comes out in the paper tomorrow. That will be hard. But none of this is easy. Each step forward is a good one.

Although, I seem to miss her more every day.

Grief & Mourning

The stages of grief are defined as:

Denial (this isn't happening to me!)
Anger (why is this happening to me?)
Bargaining (I promise I'll be a better person if...)
Depression (I don't care anymore)
Acceptance (I'm ready for whatever comes)

Until this week I thought they were linear. I thought you moved through each one and then...pop!...you were done grieving.

What I now know is that you can enter one stage and go back to another and back and forth and back and forth, really within minutes of time.

I truly thought I was ready for this. I thought I had completely passed through the Denial phase. I was wrong.

I told my SIL that I currently feel like a 2 year old having a temper tantrum in front of God. "I want her back!!!! Give me her back!!!!" Stomping and kicking my feet the whole time. Because I want her back. That's what I want. Unrealistic or not. That's what I want.

And the anger...well, that has been there all along, but it's pretty large at some moments. I have screamed and yelled at God. I have simply just screamed and yelled. Usually alone in my car. But I'm mad. I am really, really, damn mad. This is wrong. This is not fair. Not my mom. She didn't deserve this. My dad shouldn't be so sad. He shouldn't be so lonely. They are good people. Why? Why? I want some answer that just doesn't exist and it makes me so mad.

Perhaps I've done my bargaining. I did so much over the last 6 months and none of it worked. I feel like there's nothing left to bargain for anymore.

The depression is certainly there. Always. Underlying everything. Underlying the denial. Underlying the anger. The world doesn't seem to be a happy place to me anymore. The depression is constant. The world isn't okay when your mom is no longer in it.

I have to believe the acceptance will come. But I think it's far away.

I have so much work to do. Work I didn't understand until the moment my mom died. I guess that's normal.

But I have to say there are a couple of things that have struck me these past couple of days. I just need to say this and hope no one takes offense...but I no longer want to hear that my mom is in a better place. That doesn't help. I know it's what we say. I've said it plenty to other people in their times of grief I am sure. But it doesn't help me. I know my mom is better off. I watched her die. I watched her wither away to just a shell of her former self. I know she is better off. But that, in NO way, makes me feel better. Maybe my faith isn't strong enough. Maybe it's just all selfish. But I want her HERE! I know it was just a body. I know her soul is somewhere else probably looking down on me. Probably looking out for me. But I want her HERE. I want to feel her hug. I want to talk to her. I want my mom, dammit and I am NEVER going to have that again, so yes, I know she is better off. But I also know she didn't want to die yet. That she had so many good years left. And I think it's wrong that she is gone. I really, really do. I admire those who can find comfort in their faith and the belief that their loved one is happier. But I'm not there. Maybe I will be, but I'm just not yet.

And I've found social networking to be an interesting piece in the grieving process in the 21st century. I have received huge support through my Facebook friends. I have posted my mom's obituary there. 25 years ago, when you were grieving you had to wait for a phone call or letter for support...not to even mention years and years before that. Now, the support is instant through e-mail and social networking sites. At the same time, the world goes on in those places. Everyone else's life keeps moving forward. Silly things are posted. Trivial things. Funny things. And for someone that is grieving, it is interesting to see my first response to those posts. They make me mad. And it's really just jealousy. I want to live in the world where trivial posts are fun and something to break up the monotony of the day. I don't live there right now. I'm sure I will again. But today, I don't. And I'm jealous of others who do. And maybe at the same time, it gives me hope that we do continue forward. That's all we can do.

And I guess that's the reality. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other every day. Thank goodness for my wonderful boys. They keep me going. They give me smiles and laughter. Christopher gives the greatest, most meaningful hugs. He expresses feelings that a 7 year old can't put into words through his hugs. It is incredible. They are my lifeforce right now.

I always imagined that my world would stop when my mom died. I'd cancel appts., have back up doulas take my clients, etc., etc. But instead I just keep going. I had a prenatal appt last night. I'm sure if my clients knew that my mom had died just a little over 24 hours prior they would have been upset with me that I was there. But they didn't know. Their life is consumed with their new baby on the way, as it should be. And they hired me to support them. And I will. Today is homeschool bowling. Tonight I finish a childbirth class series. I can teach. It's what I do. Tomorrow another prenatal. Saturday back up to spend some time with dad and work on the funeral service. I have to stop at the cemetery on the way up and sign some papers so dad doesn't need to make the trip down. Sunday, a meet and greet with potential clients. Monday, another prenatal. Tuesday, I teach. Somewhere in all of that, I will most likely have a client have a baby. And I have to finish up my classes. This term ends next week. The day before mom's funeral. I keep going. Once next Tuesday ends though, my calendar is open. I'm scared of that. What happens when I have nothing to keep my mind busy? I'm actually a little terrified of next Wednesday. But I know I'll keep going.

And I'll just keep walking back and forth through the stages of grief until I find that acceptance somewhere at the end...and then probably still walk back a few times...

I miss her so much. It's physically painful how much I miss her.

Nancy Lee Barr - 6/6/36 - 10/13/09

http://nkctribune.com/obituary/

My world will never be the same without her.

And so this is how it ends...

I think everyone that reads my blog already knows that my mom died yesterday.

208 days.

In some ways that is remarkable because I remember hoping and dreaming for 100. But in most ways in my head right now it is so incredibly painful.

I was there with her when she died. It's strange since I had reconciled with the fact that I wouldn't be there. It was a blessing and a curse. Mom's last 1/2 hour was not quiet. But I'm so glad dad wasn't alone.

I will share the story soon. Right now, it's too much. I just got home and am typing this with my mom's wedding ring on my hand.

The pain I feel is sometimes unbearable. And the relief I feel is painful in and of itself.

I hurt in a way I assume you only feel when you lose your mother. I can't believe I'm living in this world without her. I miss her so incredibly much.

I love you Mom. I will love you and miss you for the rest of my life.

Day 208: Strength and Depression Combined

The last 6 months has taught me a lot about how strong I am. I know I am strong now. I can take care of my dying mom all while being on call 24/7 and doing long, overnight births and homeschooling my boys and starting back to school myself and teaching childbirth classes and keeping a house up (sort of) and being a good mom. I can do all of that. I know it's there within me.

But right now, I don't want to do any of it. I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to give it all to other people and just fall into a heap. I feel like I'm falling into a depression and I'm trying to hang on to the edges of sanity and not let go. Happiness and laughter are things that seem so far removed from what I think I'll ever feel again.

The only thing that I know is a good sign is that I do know there is another side to this. I do believe someday I'll find my way out. It's not fully depression if you know that right?

I thought I was ready for this. I really did. I thought I had these wonderful 6 months to prepare. People keep telling me how lucky we were to have them and I know that. But none of that makes NOW easier. None of it. I am NOT ready. I am SO incredibly sad and angry. I truly thought I was past that, but I'm not.

Last night it hit me out of the blue that I will NEVER talk to my mom again. Ever. And it nearly doubled me over. I can't explain that flashes that run through my head on a continuous loop. I hear conversations we've had in the past or things she would tell me or how we would commiserate over life together. I'll never have that again.

I don't know how to live without her. I really, truly don't.

I am so worried about my dad and my brother...and myself honestly. She was our rock. What do we possibly do without her?

I don't know why I bother with makeup anymore. It's a waste of time these days. When the tears start they are a flood. My eyes are swollen all the time.

My mom raised a strong, determined, self-reliant, stubborn woman. I know she is still there, I'm just having a hard time finding her these days.

Day 207: It's pretty much all just pain now...

So, Saturday I had to teach all day. I'm not sure I was actually there, but the class evaluations were good so I must have done an okay job. I know my head was certainly elsewhere.

Then Sunday it was back up north. Mom was significantly worse than she was Friday. It was so incredibly hard. Aunt Linda and Uncle Bill came up and Michael and Kiersten were there. Having family around is so comforting. Mom was barely lucid. I called Hospice to come over and check on her. The nurse that came was fantastic. She said that mom's heart was racing so hard. She suggested my dad stop moving mom from bed to chair and said it would help to get the hospital bed back in the house.

We're down to days I believe.

And so while I'm dealing with all of this yesterday, a client decided to have her baby and I had to leave my mom and head back. I got home at 4:45am this morning. It was a hard birth. And my emotions are running high. I honestly believe that God needed me to leave yesterday. That He knew I wouldn't go otherwise and that I needed to understand that I don't have to be there every minute. But it's still hard. I'm so conflicted today wanting to go up there and knowing I have loads of homework and probably shouldn't be driving in this state anyway.

Hospice is out again today. I'm waiting for a little bit to call dad and find out what they told him. I've called the 24 hour caretakers that we used back in April to see if we can get them to come in the overnight hours until mom dies so dad can sleep in peace. I've called mom and dad's church and put the wheels in motion so they know that we're going to need them soon. Say what you want about Catholics (I've said my share), but they do death well. Everything will be taken care of for us and that will be a blessing.

And so now it's a terrible, painful, horrible waiting game. My mom was breathing every 9 to 12 seconds yesterday. At this point, I just want her to go. I want her to have peace. I don't ever want to give her up, but I can't stand what she's going through. This kind of pain is so incredible and so wrong.

My dad is going through so much. He is losing his lifelong companion. How do you do that? And he's watching every minute of it. He is loving her so much through her final days. He is so patient even though his heart is breaking to pieces. It's the most painful thing in the world to watch your parent's heart break. It truly is.

So, I do homework today intermixed with phone calls. I have a visit with a client tonight and have another client due today. My exhaustion level is incredibly high right now. I know this is a transforming journey I am on. I can feel the transformation. But it is hard. And it is painful. And it is against my will. And yet, I have to walk through it.

Thank goodness for the love and support I have. To all of you who have sent messages to me through e-mail, facebook, phone calls, texts...I love you all and you are carrying me through this in ways I cannot explain. I don't know how to ask for help. I get that from my parents apparently. But all of you who have been showering me with love and support mean the world to me. You are my strength right now. Thank you to each and every one of you.

Day 204: The Hardest Day

Today was, as far as I can remember, the hardest day of my life.

My mom is, for all sense and purposes, gone. There is nothing to her. Occasionally she would say something that would make us laugh, but for the most part, she is gone.

Hospice was there. Aunt Judy and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Marlene were there. It was good to have family around when Hospice discussed what happens from here. It's obvious they were preparing us for what is coming quickly. I read through the Hospice booklet and mom is exhibiting signs of someone with one to two weeks left to live.

Michael is working on a eulogy. I'm working on an obituary. My dad is spending his days keeping mom comfortable and wondering what he is going to do without her.

He has cried more in the past several days than I have ever seen him cry. And it breaks my heart.

This is it. This is the end. There is no getting better this time. And I'm lost. I'm just so lost in this pain.