Completion

Five days ago, my last term towards my Bachelor's Degree ended and I officially completed all the requirements towards my degree.  On Monday I woke up in the midst of an identity crisis.  I had no school to do, no clients who needed me and I felt lost.  Here it is five days later and I don't know where the week has gone.  Although I do have a house that is cleaner than it has been in a long time.  ;-) 
I spent Monday printing out paperwork for my Washington State licensing requirements.  I took a required training and test and then started to get overwhelmed with all I had left to do.  I had promised myself some down time and time off, but I was immediately throwing myself into the next stage of this process for me.  By Tuesday I decided I needed to give myself some time to recuperate from the last two years and reflect on all that has occurred.

It has been a remarkable two years when I look back on it.  Two years ago, I had just taken the leap and started back to school.  Mom was doing reasonably well and I was adjusting to adding studies into my schedule.  Six weeks later, mom would be gone and my life was turned upside down.  I can't quite explain how much I wanted to quit school.  It seemed like too much.  But I completed my first term with two As and on the day of mom's cemetery service, I started my second term truly wondering if I would complete it.  But I did.  It's the only term I received anything lower than an A and that B+ still bugs me, but it is also a reminder of where my head truly was during those 8 weeks of that term.  I was grieving and powering through school and doula clients and teaching.  Those were my distractions.  They gave me the ability to push down that grief.  But that B+ reminds me that it was still there.  Nonetheless, I completed that term and ten more terms after that.  96 weeks out of the last 104 were spent in school.  I never gave up, I never slacked off.  I just received my feedback for one of my two last classes which was a simple elective.  I could have allowed myself to take it easy in that class...I just needed the credits...but my instructor informed me I received the highest grade in class receiving 624 out of 625 points. 

I look back and wonder how I did this.  When I started 2 years ago, my goal was to get all As and Bs, although I told myself that a C would be acceptable in Statistics.  And yet, here I am graduate with nearly a 3.98... Summa Cum Laude.  And truly...I believe it was my mom.  I did this for her.  Yes, I did it for me too...but every time I found myself frustrated and wanting to give up, it was as though I could hear her pushing me forward.  At times I think she held me up.  She kept me awake.  She gave me the words I couldn't find sometimes.  I knew how proud she was of me for going back to school.  I knew that was something that gave her great happiness in her final days.  And because of that, there was no option of quitting.  There was no option of giving up...even when I wanted to.  I often thought of this time...the time after I was done...and I knew I would feel exactly as I do.  I DID IT!  It is an enormous accomplishment for me.  I have learned so much about myself along the way and what I am capable of.  And I don't think there is any stopping me now.  No one can take my Bachelor's Degree away from me.  My dreams are coming true.  And there is a part of me that wonders how much of this would have happened if mom hadn't gotten sick.

I've shared so much of our relationship here, but it was tumultuous to say the least.  But when she got sick, I had a strong desire for her to be proud of me.  It was something I was always looking for and I could certainly diagnose myself psychologically speaking.  Nonetheless, I needed her to be proud of me when she left this world.  And I believe she was.  And I believe she is incredibly proud of me right now.  And that...that is what I miss.  I miss not being able to hear her tell me.  I physically miss that.  It hurts me so deeply that I can't hear the happiness in her voice.  Oh, I can hear it in my head.  But I would give almost anything to actually hear her reaction. 

But that won't come anywhere but in my head and I just have to believe that she is looking down smiling at the person I am today.  In the past two years, I have worked SO hard in addition to buying a house and getting married.  The past 6 years have been an incredible journey and although I'd prefer to not go through some of it ever again, there is quite a bit I am very proud of and I'm happy with the person I am today and I think mom would see that.

There is still much work to be done...my Masters program starts in 4 months.  But for now, I am enjoying the end of this part of my journey.  I wish mom was here to share it with me, but I do credit her for getting me to this place. 

On a different note: September is National Ovarian Cancer month.  A teal ribbon is in support of Ovarian Cancer.  And here's the link to the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition: http://www.ovarian.org/

 

Six Weeks, Two Days

I have two incredible clients who had babies on this day in years past. I started my day with seeing birthday posts from both of them and thinking about my history on this day.

But today I spent the day driving up north to see my best friend who contacted me last night to tell me she was in the hospital with kidney failure. Kidney failure at 42! My best friend! My only friend from high school. The person who has been by my side through thick and thin for the past 25 years. Today is 6 weeks, 2 days into my LAST 8 weeks of school. 6 weeks, 2 days into my FIRST 8 weeks of school, my mom died. The symbolism was not lost on me this morning as I drove back to the hospital where I spent so much time with my mom. The hospital where so much of my life was reviewed and questioned and answered and altered. Driving up to that parking garage took my breath away.

The new wing is done at the hospital...they had been working on it when mom was in the hospital. It's beautiful, but I felt numb even walking through the new hallways. I didn't expect to be back there so quickly...certainly not for my best friend. She looked good, but her blood pressure was up and she was on a strict diet for kidney issues. And she still has 2-4 more days at the hospital which tells me she is still sick. And I instantly found myself wanting to ask questions and get answers because no one seemed to be giving any to her. It's interesting how I go into "Doula mode" upon walking into a hospital.

Tonight I sit trying to catch up on school. I am stressed. My life is changing in so many ways. And my best friend is sitting in the hospital. She is the one I call when I need support. If mom was still here I would call her to talk to her right now. But now I sit and mull over everything in my head. And the two most important women in my life are unavailable to talk to. I'm learning to handle things on my own. I can only dump so much on Olly. But I have a lot of questions right now and not a lot of answers. And I hate not having answers...even when I know there are none to be had.

It's the Jaderlund family reunion this weekend. I know some of you read this blog, so please just take this as my musings...but as the day approaches, so does my apprehension. I haven't been to the reunion in years. The last time I went, I was in the throes of postpartum depression and in a terrible marriage and trying to play off both of those things like they weren't happening. It didn't go well. And I haven't been back, mainly because I've been on-call ever since. This is the first year I'm not. And I feel like I need to represent mom's part of the family. Dad is going to go...but I'm the next generation and then my children comprise the generation after me. But I'm apprehensive. I'm realizing the whole day may be harder than I anticipated. And I'm finding myself doing a lot of slow breathing when thinking about it all.

Add that to the fact that I'm down to 12 days of school. 12 DAYS! And out of those 12 days I really only have 3 full days to get stuff done. The rest of the days are filled with work or other events that only leave me 1/2 days or no time at all. And that is overwhelming. I know I'll get it done and I'll survive but right this moment, life is incredibly overwhelming. And today has pushed me over the edge a bit.

And so I breathe.

And believe my best friend will be okay, because I don't believe that in any decent and just world, I could lose her. And I'm determined to believe that I live in a decent and just world...regardless of what parts of my brain may try to tell me sometimes.

Longer and Longer

It's been 4 & 1/2 months since my last post. As I said back in February, I struggle with coming here. My days continue on without my mom. It's been 20 months. I recently survived my 2nd birthday and Mother's Day without my mom and what would have been her 75th birthday just passed earlier this month. Mother's Day is still very hard and I anticipate it will be for some time. It's almost surreal to watch people looking for Mother's Day cards and knowing I have no mother to buy one for anymore.

Outside of the above dates, there have been several moments this year that have been momentous for me. I bought a house in March. Boy did I work hard to get to this place. I know mom would be so happy for me. Olly and I were married in April. And I am approaching graduation. I recently received feedback on my rough draft of my senior project. This is the culmination of the last two years of hard work for me. The work that began six weeks before mom died. The feedback began, "Kelli, this is one of the best papers I have read in a very long time..." As I read through the rest of my advisor's feedback, I found myself in tears. I have wanted to talk to my mom over the past 20 months at various times, but as I was reading that feedback it was the first time I so desperately wanted to pick up the phone and call my mom. I needed to talk to her. I KNOW she would be so incredibly proud of me. The kind of proud only a mother has for her children. How I wanted to hear that. I am very proud of myself, but how I wanted to share this incredible accomplishment with my mom. I did talk to dad and he expressed to me how proud he is and how he knows how proud my mom would be and I appreciated all of that and it meant so much to me. But I was surprised at how much I needed my mom at that moment and how much it hurt that she wasn't there.

And I'm surprised that I still get surprised. There are days when I feel like I've adjusted so well and then there are still moments where I completely crumble. And even though I am open to those moments and I let them come in...I admit, they still surprise me. Why I'm still surprised, I don't know. Probably because they just hit out of nowhere...out of the blue. Something small and silly usually cues a reaction in me and I find myself in tears.

As I approach the end of my Bachelor's Degree, it is such an amazing accomplishment at 42 years old, but there is a little part of me that wonders if I haven't thrown my grief into school. I have been in classes for 87 of the last 95 weeks. I have one more week in this term and then 8 weeks of my last term and I'm done with this step of my education. I have a 3.97 GPA. I only have one B+ and that was in the term right after mom died. Everything else has been an A. School has been a place to direct my brain. I have to admit that I worry about school ending and my brain having to deal with reality. But I start my Masters program in January and then likely my Doctorate 2 years after that. Is school my grief therapy? I don't know. Maybe I'm not ready to find out.

What I know is that I am very ready to start my new career. I feel I have renewed my passion for the postpartum period with my senior project and have recently learned that my passion for grief therapy is very powerful for me as well. I know without a doubt I am heading in the right direction. I have 2 Doula clients left. I will no longer be a full-time Doula by mid-August. It's odd. And a life transition...which makes it scary. But I truly know I'm following the right path.

And I feel like I have a light shining on that path for me. I feel that I have guidance that I would likely not have had without my mom's death. Is it my mom or is it the lessons I've learned in losing her? Maybe it's both. But I certainly feel that without all the experiences of the past two years, I would not be where I am today. And I know that it is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Words

Three months. Three months today since I posted last. It is not for lack of things to say. It has been for lack of words to say them. I survived the holidays in one piece. I reveled in three weeks off of school that were much deserved after 32 straight weeks. And then January came and I started a new term with 3 classes (2 is considered full time). I'm half way through. It has been intense, but I'm surviving. But I'm writing like there is no tomorrow. Paper after paper after paper. I told Olly I feel like I'm simply out of words.

But my blog keeps calling me. It's as though it's saying, "You can write 1500 word papers, but you can't find the words to blog about your mom?". Well...yes...that's exactly how I feel. Because in all honesty, I don't know that I have any words that describe what grief is like 15 1/2 months after your mom dies. In some ways it seems like it has been so long. And then when I realize that it has only been 15 1/2 months, I realize the time has actually been quite short.

I have consciously avoided this blog. For some reason, I couldn't come here. It's odd because it was my safe haven while mom was sick and I was in the throes of grief. Now it seems sort of uncomfortable. As though I should be done coming here. As though at some point, I will just feel like there is an ending to this blog. And an ending to my grief. But I am understanding that such a time will never come. I will never stop grieving the loss of my mom. Certain things will continue to strike me at odd times and reduce me to tears without a moment's notice. I honor those times now. I don't like them. But I honor them for what they are.

The last three months have had their amazing moments, like the time my lamps came on in the middle of the night, followed by a day of the burnt out Christmas tree lights turning on randomly. Believe what you want, but I can't help but think my mom finally found my house. Whether it's true or not, I don't care. The lights were unexplainable. So was my sense that my mom was near. It was the closest I have felt to her since she died. I haven't felt it since. But it was magical at the time.

And then there is the birth of my first niece, Signa Bea, who was born on the morning of January 6th. And who looks an incredible amount like my mom. Michael and Kiersten originally were told that they were having another boy, but then half way through the pregnancy, they found out this baby was actually a girl. I can't help but wonder if mom had a hand in any of that. :-)

I just registered for my 3rd to last term towards my Bachelors degree. I know my mom would be proud of me. I just wish I could hear her tell me so. I am incredibly proud of myself and amazed that I find myself looking at Doctorate programs. Sometimes I wonder if I would have done all this if mom hadn't become sick. Would I have taken the risk? Would I have jumped in? Or did I need to do this before mom died so she knew I was going to be okay? I don't really have that answer. But I know that there isn't an ounce of me that has ever considered quitting because I am determined to power through this for mom (and for me).

So time moves on...and so does the journey of grief. And because the grief will never end...just constantly change...so will this blog I suppose. When I can find the words, I will be here. When the words don't come, I'll simply wait until they do.

Forever

I survived the first year without my mom. I did all the "firsts". First Thanksgiving, first Christmas, first birthday, first Mother's Day, first anniversary of her death. I did it. But now, on the other side, what I've learned is that the first year after a death has odd correlation to the first year of marriage. That first year of marriage is the newlywed stage, but it's also a tough transition. Heck, a lot of divorces take place during that first year of marriage. But then, if you survive it, you start to settle in and "forever" truly begins. Okay, so not all marriages last in forever, but you get what I'm saying here.

Surviving the first year after my mom's death felt like a huge accomplishment. And then, the next day I woke up and realized...wait...now it's not "firsts" anymore. It's "forever". It's like the honeymoon period has ended and I had to leave the "first year" club and move in to the "rest of your life" club. Suddenly, old wounds were opened and I realized now it's just ALL holidays, ALL birthdays, every day, FOREVER...I am going to be without my mom. It was an odd realization. You would think one would know the forever part and on some level you do. But that first year is all about the "firsts" and I think we can forget or ignore the forever. Then the first year ends and forever is standing there staring you right in your face.

It's a whole new place. A whole new world. In some ways I can see how much better I am now than I was a year ago. And in some ways, I feel like I'm starting all over again because now I'm facing forever. And yes, I know I just have to do one day at a time. Yes, I know I don't have to live forever today or tomorrow or any other day for that matter. But right now, it's simply the concept of forever that I am having to work through.

Last year I couldn't bear to spend a holiday without family. I NEEDED them. I needed the reminder that, although my mom is gone, I still have an extended family that loves me and who I can enjoy and spend time with and know that we all miss my mom in our own ways. But this year is starkly different. I don't even want to acknowledge the holidays are coming. God, how I used to love Thanksgiving. It was my favorite holiday. Just family and food and no pressure of gifts. Just togetherness. But that's gone. It's just simply gone. The idea of Thanksgiving is tearing me to pieces. Because my reality is, I have my own family who shouldn't have to suffer simply because I can't tolerate the holidays. My boys, Olly, Olly's son Blake...they shouldn't have to stop enjoying holidays just because I can't enjoy them. But it's a huge internal conflict for me because THIS year, I just need them not to come. And, of course, I know they will. But I would like to be somewhere else...say Canada...where it's not Thanksgiving on November 25th.

Because THIS year begins FOREVER. I will NEVER have another holiday with my mom. That idea honestly didn't hit me last year because we were just trying to get through the "first". And my mom made Thanksgiving what it was for me. And there is a part of me that wants to try to recreate it. Heck, my mom was able to make my Thanksgivings even though her mom was gone. Why can't I do it? Okay, so maybe I CAN do it. I just don't WANT to this year. And I just want people to understand that and give me THIS year where I don't have to fake it. Give me a year when I can say out loud...I don't want to do the holidays. I think I need it in order to move on. But the responsible side of me says, "You have to pull it together for everyone else". That's what we do right?

If things go as planned, we'll be moving at the end of December. Two years ago, we moved on New Years Eve and it was Hell. Originally I couldn't believe we had managed to arrange it so that we'd be moving in winter again, during the holidays. But NOW...I love the idea. How can I arrange not to put up the Christmas tree? Really, what's the point of putting it up just to take it down to move? And now we have this beautiful piano in the house, which fills my house with gorgeous sounds played at the hands of an 8 year old, sitting where the Christmas tree used to go. There's really no place for it right now. So maybe this is the opportunity to do something different this year. Maybe we buy a mini live tree and we sparsely decorate it and we celebrate differently this year. That sounds good for my soul.

Hmmmm...maybe the holidays don't have to go entirely. Maybe there is a compromise in here somewhere. Maybe they just need to be different. Maybe there needs to be a transition. Maybe I need to stop trying to make the holidays how my mom made them because that's what I know. Maybe it's time to make the holidays different or new. Maybe that's what happens now.

Ahhhh...this is why blogging is so fascinating. As I made my way through this post it came with tears and sadness and then a revelation here at the end. I've been mulling this stuff over in my head for a couple of weeks now and never came to the idea that I just wrote here. Odd.

I've still got some thinking to do. I still would prefer to run away to some far away place for the next 2 months. But that isn't feasible. So, perhaps this year can just be different. Simple. I do know it's a year of transition. And I don't want to pretend that it isn't. I know that nothing will create that excitement over the holidays that I used to feel. Not this year anyway. And if I've learned anything about grief it's that I have to allow myself to feel this and experience it in order to get through it in a healthy way. Pretending I don't feel this way doesn't make me feel differently. It just makes everyone else feel better about it all. And I have spent an entire lifetime doing what makes everyone else happy. This year, I need to do what is right for me too.

So, the holidays are coming. Forever is here. I may not like any of it, but I have to face it all. I just need to do it in a way that honors what I've been through and what is to come while still honoring "today" and what it is. I'm sure there is a happy medium in there somewhere. Keep checking in here to see if I find it. :-)

A Mom Never Leaves Completely

Well, here I thought I might not have a lot to blog about anymore. It's funny that after a year, I still think that once I survive a certain "something" (birthdays, holidays, 1st anniversary of mom's death), it's done and over with and I can move on. It's interesting to me that, even after a year, I still expect there to be finality to grief. No matter how many times other people tell me they still hurt years and years after a loved one dies, I still have this weird belief that at some point, I will stop hurting. I'm coming to terms with the fact that this is not the case. How could it be really? How can you possibly stop hurting for and missing someone you loved? I guess I just thought that it would get easier and easier and then just...stop. The first anniversary of mom's death has proven to me, once again, that is not true.

A year has gone by and the hurt and the pain is definitely different than it was a year ago. However, the anniversary of mom's death brought back VERY strong feelings that I truly did not expect. It reminded me that the loss is still there. The pain is still there. As days go by, the pain subsides, but when events happen that stir up feelings, the pain emerges again. And that is normal and okay. And I, apparently, need to continue to learn this lesson.

This past week was not what I expected. And I am convinced my mom had a large hand in that. Thus, the title of this post. I believe my mom had a hand in how my week played out this week. She is still out there. She is still my mom. And she is still trying to protect me.

She knew this week was going to be hard on me. She didn't want a fuss made over her and she knew I would make one. And she was right. That was my plan. So, I am certain that she arranged for me to have such a busy week that I had no ability to make that fuss. On Tuesday morning, a client's water broke. I expected this to be a quick birth. It was a 2nd time mom. They usually move quickly. Eighteen(!) hours later, her baby was finally born, on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. And I had made a deal with my mom that I would not drive to the cemetery.

I arrived home around 4:30am on Wednesday. I took a shower. I slept for about an hour and a half. And then I spent the entire day in my pajamas. I NEVER do that. But on this day, I needed to. I shut out the world. I was tired. I was emotional. And I apparently needed to just "be". Thank goodness for friends who have been there before me. One of my close friends shared with me her story of the 1st anniversary of her dad's death and how she spent most of it in her pajamas and in bed. It felt good to realize this was okay.

At 4:00pm, my world started to close in on me. It felt completely out of my control. I felt transported back in time and was standing next to my mom lying in a hospital bed in her living room. The harpist had just left. She told me later that she knew what was happening and felt that it was a private family event and she needed to leave...but she couldn't stop thinking about us. I believe, to this day, that she "played my mom out". Her music was beautiful and I believe mom's soul left her body as the harpist played. And after her soul left, her body was not needed anymore.

Mom's eyes were open, but she was not there. The rattle in her chest was becoming louder and louder. I called hospice who told me that it sounded like "end of life breathing" and I remember saying, "end of life NOW?!". I knew this time was coming, but here it was. Now. And I was lost and confused and scared and didn't know what to do.

Dad had been in the garage and I had Jonathan go get him. He came in and I told him what hospice had told me. They had also suggested that we try to sit mom up so the two of us tried to lift her. It sounded like she was trying to say something, but she was incomprehensible. She sounded like she was drowning. Dad was yelling at her to cough. We were in a panic. Looking back we have both told each other that our heads knew what was happening but our hearts were lost and breaking and we wanted to change the outcome.

I remember looking in mom's eyes. I will forever remember looking in her eyes as she was dying and I told her it was okay to go. I told her we were going to be okay. I told her I loved her. And I knew she was already gone. I knew she wasn't there. But I needed to say good-bye. The last 15 minutes of mom's life were hell for dad and me. It was loud. It was terrifying. We wanted to make it stop.

And then it did.

Her rattle slowed down and became quieter and then simply stopped.

Dad and I looked at each other for confirmation of what we already knew.

And then I searched for a pulse. I crazily searched for a pulse.

But there wasn't one.

It had become eerily silent.

And then dad and I hugged each other. It was over. And for a moment, the world stopped in that place.

And at 5:15pm one year later, my world stopped again, just for a moment, in that place.

At 5:00pm, I found myself locked in the bathroom. It was the only place I could be alone. And I lived those last 15 minutes again. I FELT them. And as the clock on my phone turned to 5:15pm, the tears flowed like they did a year ago. The pain was exactly the same. I hurt SO much. I felt like I was reliving it all.

And then my clock switched to 5:16pm and just like a year ago, I composed myself. I took a deep breath and started moving forward. Last year, that meant making phone calls and taking the first steps in the world without my mom. This year it meant taking the first step into year two.

And I survived the 1st anniversary of my mom's death.

Thursday morning dawned and I was sad. I felt like I was mourning all over again. It wasn't the same as last year, but it was such a stronger feeling than I have had in a long time. I started thinking that Friday would be the day I would go to the cemetery. Ahhhh...but mom had other plans again.

I had another client who had been trying to go into labor every day for a week. I heard from her every morning and late into every night. While I was teaching a class on Thursday night, I heard from her saying her contractions had picked up...again. I had become sort of immune to those texts. I got home around 10pm and by 11pm her husband had called to tell me that things were definitely picking up. It sounded like it might be real this time. And I knew then that mom was involved again. I was still VERY tired from Wednesday and I hadn't fully recovered from the loss of sleep yet from this week. But by 1am, I was back on the road to another hospital. I was actually expecting a long birth this time, but by 8:28am another beautiful baby girl was born into the world and I was home by Noon. Exhausted. Raw. And fully aware that my mom was still having an impact on my life.

Another night of no sleep meant another day of no driving to the cemetery. And so I finished out the week here at home, simply believing that this was the way it was supposed to be.

And now I have this very odd schedule ahead of me. A schedule of NOTHING. I am finishing up a term at school this week and starting a new one on Monday. But I have no classes this week and I have no clients due. I have no clients for the remainder of the year actually and that is troubling. Although I love the idea of not being on call, I also like the idea of eating and paying for rent. I have never had a lack of clients like this so I simply have to believe that things will work out as they should. And believing that my mom still has a hand in things makes me believe that somehow this WILL be okay and it WILL be what it is supposed to be.

I am going to honor this downtime though and let myself experience what I need to experience with it and not worry about what the future holds. Okay...I'll try to do that. I'm not very good at it. But I am still experiencing some strong emotions. Similar to those of this time last year. Just different. Just a year later. But I find myself more in tears than I have been in some time. I find that the leaves turning makes me cry. I find that thinking about holidays makes me cry. I find that hearing about others' family events makes me cry. And I'm starting to accept that I will probably always feel this way to some extent.

I need to re-invent the holidays and I don't really think I'm ready to do that yet. But they will never be the same without my mom and so I can't just do the same things and simply have her be absent. We need to do different things. Part of me just wants to take off and go away, but I don't feel like I can do that because I don't want dad to be alone. But this Thanksgiving is really going to stink because the boys will be with their dad. It will be my first Thanksgiving without them and I am not looking forward to it. So, this Thanksgiving may need to be something significantly different. I just don't know what that looks like yet.

I am realizing that there will always be work to be done. It doesn't end with each holiday survived. It doesn't end with the completion of the first year. Year two continues to hold challenges. The loss changes and evolves. It does not have a beginning and and end. It is forever. And it is something that I will always have in some way or another. And that is okay.

It still shocks me when the feelings come. Maybe that shock will wear off some over the years. Maybe I'll just think, "Oh...here they come again" after a while. Perhaps I'll learn how to just let them come. I guess I'm learning, but this process still seems so new to me. But I'm better at it than I was a year ago. And I have survived a year without my mom. I will survive the next one too.

But I do know that you never can entirely lose your mom. I just don't think it's impossible. I carry her with me in so many things that I think and do. She and I were very different in many ways, but there are some things that are so incredibly similar and when I find myself thinking a certain way or doing a certain thing, I have to laugh because she is still here with me. And she is still looking out for me. She is still pulling some of the strings in my life. I'm not completely pleased about that, but in some ways it is comforting too. Your mom is always your mom, whether she is physically here or not. That kind of relationship can never fully go away.

I miss my mom though. I miss having a mom. She and I had our differences, but the bottom line was that she was my mom. And a girl can't talk to anyone the way she talks to her mom. And I don't have that anymore. And the reality of knowing that I will live the rest of my life this way is painful sometimes. I want that relationship back. I am jealous of others that have it. And, again, I suppose this is normal. All daughters find themselves in this situation sooner or later. I guess I just always thought it would be later. I know that many people lose their moms much earlier in their lives. I know I'm not alone in all these feelings. But they still hurt. And I still get angry about it sometimes. And I simply just miss having my mom to talk to.

I expect that this time of year will always hold these kinds of feelings. I expect that October will always be a time of reflection for me. I see that now, although I didn't see it coming. Next year, I'll be more prepared...maybe. But what I have been reminded of this year is that grief is not finite. It is fluid, constantly moving, constantly changing. Forever.

Perhaps that is what this blog will be as well. :-)

A Year Goes By

I am VERY tired as I sit to write this post. I arrived home this morning at 5:00am after a fairly long and emotional birth. Nothing today is going to go the way I'd planned. And somehow it all seems appropriate.

This morning at 2:48am, a beautiful baby girl was born into the world on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. As I stood back and watched a mom and dad welcome their baby girl, the power of this experience was not lost on me and my eyes flooded with tears. I recomposed myself, but 6 hours later, those emotions are still very alive and the tears easily flow.

I had plans for today. A whole day of plans. And none of them will happen. I am much too tired to drive having had only a couple of hours of interrupted sleep this morning. I have another client who still is trying to go into labor. And so today, I stay home. And perhaps I would still have attempted a trip to the cemetery except that I made a deal with my mom at 2:15 this morning that I would not go. I don't know how to explain it. But my mom was there this morning. I felt her. I almost argued with her over everything that was happening. I KNEW that she didn't want a "fuss" made over her today. But I didn't understand why she had to go this far. At 2:15, I told her I would not go to the cemetery if she could just let this mom have her baby. Things were getting a little upside down and it was taking a long time and there was concern for mom's health. And then 1/2 hour later, baby was out. I realize it could be a coincidence, but it wasn't. I have not felt that close to my mom since she died.

On the way home, in the elevator, I reiterated my promise not to go to the cemetery and begged her to let me get some rest before my next birth. My other client had texted at 2:43am that her contractions were getting a lot stronger. I knew I needed rest. I also knew there was a part of me that REALLY still wanted to drive to the cemetery. I felt like that text was a reminder for me. I had made a deal. So, in the elevator I repeated my promise and asked for a little break. And here it is 9:00am and no big signs of labor from my other mom.

And yet I still want to go to the cemetery. But I can't. I am too tired and I made a deal with my mom...crazy as it sounds. I cried for my entire drive home from the hospital. It was that cry from deep down that came this time last year. It was a cry of anger and of sadness. It was a cry of loss. It's all so real again today. And once again, I thought I was prepared. But I was not. Of course, lack of sleep doesn't help much with the emotions. :-O

I feel stuck in this day. And I feel like that is how it is supposed to be. It's odd to feel both pain and numbness. But, it will pass. The day will end. I will not be sleeping on the floor of my mom and dad's house like I was last year. I will be in my own bed. And I will have survived an entire year without my mom. There will be many, many more. But today is the last "first". And it's not going the way I had planned. I wonder if I'll ever come to understand that I can't plan much of anything in this life. That most of it is out of my hands. Probably not...

Perhaps the boys and I will do something in town. Perhaps we will simply stay home. This morning I made a donation to Providence Hospice of Snohomish County. That felt important and it felt good to honor the people who helped us so much last year. I will do that every year. That I know.

As for the rest of today, who knows. I will stop at 5:15pm and I will have my own moment of silence and I will remember a year ago. I will remember what I can't ever forget. I will remember those last moments. I will remember the sounds. I will remember the moment my mom left the earth. And I will remember a lifetime of my mom in one moment.

I miss her so much. What I wouldn't give for one more hug or one more conversation. To all of you reading, if you still have your mom, please, in honor of my mom, call her today. Tell her you love her. Whatever your relationship is with her, one day you will miss it. I wish I had understood that the way I do now.

I believe today will be a day of rest. A day of reflection. I don't really want to deal with the daily business of life today. I don't want to do any school work. I just want to BE. I rarely do that and today seems to be the day to try it.

A baby girl was born this morning, on the 1st anniversary of my mom's death. The circle of life continues. We all continue to move forward. I don't know where this blog goes from here. I always sort of imagined it would end today. But ending it feels like ending my relationship with my mom in an odd sort of way. It doesn't feel right yet. Perhaps there will be no more posts. Perhaps there will be one or two. But I just don't feel ready to officially say it's the end of this blog. I feel like there is still more to be said...but we'll see... The next year holds some big stuff in store in my life and sharing it here seems right, but I guess time will tell.

But to end this post today, I'm copying and pasting the information for the video we played at mom's funeral and Michael's eulogy. They are as powerful and beautiful today as they were a year ago.

I miss you mom. My heart physically hurts today. And with every ounce it, I still miss you.

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.

The countdown continues...

Last year, the 11th was Sunday and it was the last time I saw my mom sitting up. It was an incredibly hard day. I spent the day up at mom and dad's and then had to leave for a client in labor. I was so sure mom was going to die while I was gone, but she hung on for a couple more days. I remember being at that birth and being somewhere else in my head at the same time. Here I am a year later with 2 clients overdue and wondering if I'll be birthing on the anniversary of mom's death instead of making a trip to the cemetery. I've reconciled with either way. If I'm home, we'll go to the cemetery. I haven't been there in much too long and I want mom to have some flowers. But if I am birthing, it is because I am meant to be birthing. I can see mom arranging it that way so as not to make a fuss over her. I really can.

I taught my monthly one day childbirth class on Saturday. I remember teaching the October class last year too and my head being somewhere so far away. This year, I feel like my classes and my clients and my schoolwork are keeping my head busy. But in the few down times, my emotions well up and the feelings from last year take over. I am struggling with concentrating. Right now I should be writing a paper for class, but I'm writing here instead because this is where my head is. As I said before, I feel as though I am in two different worlds. I remember this time last year like it was yesterday. And yet, it feels like a lifetime has passed since then. I keep saying it over and over, but I'm so different from the woman I was a year ago, or a year and a half ago. In two days, I can say I've survived a year on this earth without my mom. It's still shocking. It's still heartbreaking at times. I still miss her a LOT. There are times I still get angry. And right now I can feel those feelings from last year so vividly. But I have survived. I know I will continue to do so. But I know I don't have to like it. And I still don't.

There is an enormous amount of stress in my life right now. My emotions get overwhelming at times. But somehow, I know everything will work out the way it's supposed to. I know that someone is looking out for me, even if I don't fully understand it. I wish I didn't have this countdown in my head, but it's like a ticking clock. Nonetheless, when it stops ticking this year, everything won't go silent like it did a year ago. I won't be rendered numb and lost like I was last year. I will feel what I need to feel and then I will pick myself up and start year two without my mom knowing that I am stronger and wiser than I was when I started year one. And I'll be okay.

October Continues

Last year on this day was the last time I ever heard my mom tell me she loved me.

http://findingmymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-201-beginning-of-end.html

It was with a rattling voice and felt desperate as though she needed me to understand. And I did. I still wish I had understood for all the years before that.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from my Aunt Judy, and as she always does, she shared a story with me that helped calm my heart. One of the things she mentioned was the dates of death for my maternal grandparents. Now, I took pictures of my grandparents graves this summer when I was at the cemetery in Roslyn. I have them on my phone. I looked at them over and over and not once did it occur to me that my grandmother, my mom's mom, died on October 12th. One day and 32 years before my mom died. It just struck me as so odd that they would die one day apart. My mom and her mom had an even more tumultuous relationship than mom and I did...significantly more really. It just seems so interesting that out of 365 days in a year, my mom and her mom would die one day apart. It was kind of stunning to me.

A year ago today was hell. I still feel like I'm re-living it, but it's not as painful as this day was last year. I remember the cry I had a year ago. It was a cry from a place that I had never been to before, but experienced several other times after that first one.

A year ago today I knew I was losing my mom...soon. And the days and nights all started running together. School and clients and classes and my kids and the daily stuff of life...and my mom was dying. It was surreal. It still is. And I still feel it very profoundly a year later. But now I have a countdown. I know when it all ends. And it's painful and it feels huge as though my heart may burst when the countdown ends. But I know I survived too. And that's what keeps me going. I know how hard it was this time last year. And I know I survived. This year is an experience. It is part of the grieving process. I need to live it. And I will survive it too.

Today, I am taking my boys to the zoo to enjoy a beautiful Autumn day in the NW. It is an important thing for us to do. It's a necessary distraction. And it will be a good day. And somehow, I feel mom will be with us as I still feel her very nearby. She is close. I know it. I know she is helping me through this 1st anniversary. And although I can't physically hear her tell me she loves me...I feel it. And that gives me some much needed peace.

October

Where do I start? A year ago, everything was changing and it was becoming very clear that the cancer was taking mom. http://findingmymom.blogspot.com/2009/10/day-196-i-hope-im-wrong.html As today has approached, my moods have shifted. I feel like I'm living in an odd bubble of time. It is almost as though I am living a year ago. I feel as though I am reliving it all, the pain, the suffering, the hurt. It's all very real and very raw and I wasn't expecting it. So, as I do, I researched and, sure enough, I'm normal. Well, in this aspect anyway. ;-) Apparently this is not unusual as the first year anniversary of a death approaches. I guess I thought we had done so many "firsts" this year, that this would just be another one. But I couldn't have been more wrong. This one is HUGE. And it's been building as October has drawn closer and closer.

The leaves are changing. Fall is here. And I remember thinking last year that Fall would always be about the loss of my mom. But I didn't realize how vividly that would feel for me. As the weather changed, so did my moods and my feelings. I have cried more in the past couple of weeks than I have cried in the past several months. And it is that deep down cry of loss. It's all so deep and strong and raw again. It's unsettling really.

And then I talk to people and they tell me that they are surprised that I am shocked by my reaction to this anniversary. And then I realize I am still underestimating grief. I keep thinking, "I've survived everything else, why should this be different?" And I guess the answer is "Because it IS different". All the other anniversaries were anniversaries of things I'd experienced my entire life. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Dad's birthday, Easter, my birthday, Mother's Day, Mom's birthday, Mom and Dad's anniversary. They were different and harder because mom wasn't here. But October 13th was not an important day in my life until last year. And now it is a life changing day. It will always be an important day for the rest of my life. But this is the 1st anniversary of that day. It seems similar to a baby's 1st birthday. It is the FIRST time celebrating that birthday. It's why parents make it to be such a big deal. That day has become forever important in their life, but only in the past year did it become that way. That's how this feels. It IS a big deal. It is the FIRST anniversary of my mom's death. It is the first time I have ever marked this day in my life. And the only thing that makes October 13th special in my life is that it is the day my mom died. It's not a holiday that everyone else with loss has to get through. It is not a birthday or another anniversary that has been celebrated over and over. It is the day my mom died. And it's the first time I am marking that day. I guess it does make sense that it is huge. I keep saying, "It's been a year...I should be better", but the reality is, it's ONLY been a year.

I am trying to come up with how I want to handle the 13th. How I want to mark each anniversary of mom's death and I haven't figured it out yet. I feel like it will come to me. I know I plan to go to the cemetery and possibly up to dad's as I would rather he not be alone. But I feel like there needs to be something more. Maybe I make a donation to hospice. Maybe I perform a random act of kindness. I don't know. I just know there needs to be something and I still believe it will come.

But until then, I am letting myself experience this time. Now that I have acknowledged its significance and its power, I can let myself feel it. Now that the shock of the feelings has worn off, I can accept that it is something that needs to be experienced. Good, bad or otherwise.

I feel my mom close by. More than I have in the last year. Maybe spirits get to come around more on the anniversary of their death too. I don't know. I just know she is here and she has provided me some comfort as I feel my heart breaking in those same spots that it broke last year. Old wounds opening up. But it's okay. I think. They will heal up again, although the scars will never go away. I found this poem while doing all my research and somehow, it helps a little:

Please don’t mourn for me
I’m still here, though you don’t see.
I’m right by your side each night and day
And within your heart I long to stay.

My body is gone but I’m always near
I’m everything you feel, see and hear.
My spirit is free but I’ll never depart
As long as you keep me alive in your heart.

I’ll never wander out of your sight.
I’m the brightest star on a warm summer night.
I’ll never go beyond your reach
I’m the warm, moist sand when you walk on the beach.
I’m the colourful leaves when winter comes ‘round
And the pure white snow that blankets the ground.

I’m the beautiful flowers of which you’re so fond.
The clear cool water in a quiet pond.
I’m the first bright blossom you see in the spring.
The first shiny raindrop that storm clouds bring.

I’m the first ray of light when the sun starts to shine
And you see that the face in the moon is mine.
When you start thinking there’s no one to love you
Talk to me and I will listen.
I’ll whisper my answer through the leaves on the trees.
And you’ll feel my presence in the soft summer breeze.

I’m the hot salty tears that flow when you weep
And the beautiful dreams that come while you sleep
I’m the smile you see on a stranger’s face
Just look for me………
I’m every place!

~ Anonymous

One day, one step, at a time as I make my way through these next 12 days and all that will come along with them.

Memories & The Journey of Grief

It's been a while since I have posted here. It has not been for lack of trying. I actually have a post sitting in my draft folder that I typed up on the 10 month anniversary of mom's death. But it didn't feel like it was from the heart. It felt forced as though I was simply supposed to post that day. And so I never published it.

However, a lot has been going on in my head in the past few weeks and I feel compelled to get a little of it down here. Our family had another cancer scare that shook us all up. Thankfully, the outcome was a good one, but boy did it bring up a lot of stuff! A year ago, Olly was in California with his dying grandmother. This Friday will be a year since she died. I can't believe it's been a year since that time in our lives. It was a surreal place to live. The world going on around us while everything else seemed to be in slow motion and falling apart. Things were getting bad with mom again too. We all knew things were changing, no matter how much we had all hoped for a miracle.

The weather is changing here. Fall is coming. It has occurred to me that with every fall for likely the rest of my life, a lot of emotions will be stirred in my soul. As the days became shorter and the nights became longer, my mom's life was ending and then she was gone. I am feeling the loss more deeply as these days are changing. And a part of my brain is living in a year ago. It's as though I am reliving it in certain ways.

A week ago I started my 2nd year of school. It took me right back to a year ago as I started my 1st two classes and how terrified I was, but how I knew it was time. And then 6 weeks into my first term, mom died. And yet, here I am a year later, having completed 12 classes with 11 more to go. I'm carrying a 3.95 GPA. Gosh, how proud of me mom would be.

I can't explain how many times I've wanted to stop. Right now I am incredibly frustrated with school having gone 17 straight weeks with 15 more to go before I get a break. I am burnt out. I am actually writing here instead of staring at a blank page on my screen while trying to come up with words to put together yet another paper. I actually love the process of learning, but the workload is incredible and overwhelming some days.

But in the back of my head, I hear my mom. I hear her telling me that I can do this. And I know she is right. But how I wish I could call her and hear the support in her voice. I miss her a lot. I miss just simply having my mom to call to remind me how smart and strong I am when I forget.

The last year was so life changing for me. The next year will include more life changes. In 10 months, I will have my Bachelor's Degree. In 11 months, I will retire from Doula work and start a new career at the same time I start my Masters program. I'm currently working on buying a house which is amazing accomplishment after all that I have been through. I have crawled back up from a really low point about 5 years ago. I have started over. I have never given up. Not even when my mom died. Instead, I pushed even harder. Some people think I push too hard. And maybe I do. But it's who I am and I am proud of my accomplishments. But some of that pushing is likely a defense mechanism. I have not slowed down since mom died. And part of me knows it's because I'm scared that in slowing down, I will have to "feel" more. I don't have time to feel right now. Believe me, I have my moments. But so much of the busy work in my life is exhausting and frustrating and overwhelming....and yet, it keeps me moving forward. It keeps me going on and it doesn't allow me time to stop and think and feel. As exhausting as school has been, it has helped me survive the last year.

Mom and dad's 52nd anniversary is coming up. It is yet another first we have to get through this year. After that, it's the 1st anniversary of mom's death. And then we can all say we survived the first year.

But what does that mean really? I have survived nearly 11 months without my mom. I know I can live without her. But I still hate it. I still find myself in tears in my car sometimes. Not as often as I used to, but it has picked up again as this time of year has revived a lot of emotions and memories.

I decided that I'm going to spend some time printing off all these blog posts and compile them all into some sort of book so that I will always have them and my kids will have them. This blog has been a year and a half of my life and my journey into loss and grief and finding pieces of myself through finding pieces of my mom and the journey towards forgiveness and letting go. I want my kids to understand it some day.

I don't know that I'll ever have another year like the past one. In some ways I hope I never do, but in other ways, the growth that came with it has been powerful. I have said it over and over, I am not the same person I was before that day that the phone call came that dropped me to my knees. And although, there was something nice about that world before my mom got sick, I have to admit, I'd never truly felt as alive as I have felt since her diagnosis. I have had to LIVE each day. To feel each moment. It likely contributes to my exhaustion. But it is important.

If you watched the Emmy's you may have seen Jewel sing a song during the Memoriam portion. She said it was a song she wrote for someone she loved who died from cancer. Of course, it tore at my heartstrings and I have downloaded it to my phone and I listen to it often when I need a good cry. It talks of September. It talks of children having children of their own. It is beautiful and it is though she wrote it for me. Today, I'm ending this post with those lyrics because they say exactly what I feel.

The Shape Of You
September settled softly.
Leaves are starting to fall.
I recall the last time you were here
your laughter a melody that lingers still.

There's a hole in my heart
and I carry it wherever I go.
Like a treasure that travels
with me down every road.
There's this longing lonesome ending.
Kind of bitter, kind of sweet.
There's a hole in my heart
in the shape of you.

Time steals so swiftly.
Children having children of their own
and around life's merry-go round goes
And there you are wanting what you cannot hold.

There's a hole in my heart
and I carry it wherever I go
like a treasure that travels
with me down every road.
There's this longing lonesome ending
kind of bitter, kind of sweet.
There's a hole in my heart
in the shape of you.

Even though my heart aches
there's a smile on my face
cause just like a window to heaven
there's a light shining through.

There's a hole in my heart
and I carry it wherever I go
like a treasure that travels
with me down every road.

There's this longing lonesome ending.
Kind of bitter, kind of sweet.
There's a hole in my heart.
There's a hole in my heart.
There's a hole in my heart
in the shape of you.

9 months

Three quarters of a year. It's still sort of surreal for me. I can't believe I've lived in this world for three quarters of a year without my mom. And I'm okay. I get up every morning. I work hard. I enjoy my children. I laugh. I cry. The sun comes up and the sun sets. The world keeps rotating. I'm okay. But I still miss mom every day. And this world that I live in has never been, and never will be, the same world as the one I lived in before my mom was gone.

People told me that it would not feel as raw as it did nine months ago, and they were right. They also told me that it would still hurt now and then. Sometimes more than others. They were right about that too. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my mom, but for the most part the raw pain over the incredible loss has been replaced with just a general sadness. Yet, there are days, like today, when it all bubbles to the surface again.

The anniversaries are hard. I expect that after the first year, I'll no longer be marking every month like we all seem to do the first year. Maybe we mark those months to show ourselves that we're getting through. I think a lot about "what I was doing a year ago". July wasn't so bad. Mom was still feeling good. We were all feeling hopeful. I do remember though as the Croatian picnic was looming, mom said she couldn't go. I think everyone was hoping she would make it, but she confided to me on the phone that she had a dream that she lost my dad at the picnic and it scared her. Even though we were all feeling hopeful, the cancer was still inside and it was slowly killing her. Little things like this reminded me of that.

This weekend is the Croatian picnic. Dad is going this year. It will actually be the first year that I will be attending in a LONG time. 2 weeks ago was the first time I had been to Roslyn in a very long time. So many feelings were stirred in that trip. I took dad over to the memorial service for a childhood friend's mother. She died the same day as mom died, but was in Michigan where she had moved to be with her family after her husband had died 10 years prior. The family was all flying out to bury her with her husband in Roslyn and dad's friend (who had reconnected with dad over e-mail) invited him to come. The invitation came several months ago and I was determined I would get dad there. It was a long day of driving... an hour and a half to Arlington, 2 hours to Roslyn, a few hours in Roslyn, 2 hours back to Arlington and an hour and a half back home. But for those few hours in Roslyn, it was all worth it.

So much of that area has changed, and yet so much of it has remained like the childhood pictures in my mind. There are a LOT more people in town, but the cemetery is exactly the same. Dad and I got there early and we found his friend's mother's plot which turned out to be just steps away from my grandparents (his parents) plot. We decided to drive over to mom's family's plots as well and such a flood of emotions came hurtling back into my head. I love that cemetery. I found a love of cemeteries at that particular cemetery. I remember being a kid and exploring the older part of the cemetery and wiping off long covered head stones and being fascinated by a cemetery split by racial/ethnic classes. I learned a lot about history at that cemetery. I learned a lot about family at that cemetery.

Every memorial day it was like a family reunion at the Roslyn cemetery. As a kid growing up, it just seemed normal that we would spend several hours tending to graves while people drove up that hadn't been seen in a year (since the previous memorial day). Coolers of beer and pop always came out. People laughed and told stories. I could see all of that 2 weeks ago as I stood at my grandparent's grave. I could FEEL it.

I remember telling other kids about the my memorial day experiences and they looked at me with a look of horror because they couldn't imagine anything like that taking place at a cemetery. But for me that cemetery holds more than just my geneological history, it holds memories that I have carried with me my entire life. And in one day, years of memories came flooding back in a moment.

It was incredible to watch dad meet up with his childhood friend who he hadn't seen in decades. What a reunion. It meant a lot to both of them. And it was worth every minute of driving I did that day.

So, this weekend, it's back for the Croatian picnic. I'm looking forward to seeing family. I'm looking forward to some laughter. I'm looking forward to some memories. And right now, I'm anxiously hoping my week overdue client has her baby before Sunday so I can definitely be there!

It will be another long day of driving, but once again, I know it will be worth it. I didn't understand the importance of things like this as a kid...or even several years ago honestly. But I do now. Life is short. Time is limited. Times of laughter and joy with family need to be honored because we never know when family will be gone.

Dad and I drove by both my grandparent's homes on our way out of town two weeks ago. My mom's childhood house is torn down, but the house where my grandparents moved to, and where I spent a lot of time, is still there, as is my dad's parents' house. It was odd to drive by, and once again feel such a flood of emotions in front of each house.

I wish I had my mom here to tell me her stories and to reminisce about memories. I'll never get that back and I hate that. But I still have other family around who still have stories to share and for that I am grateful.

This post isn't anything like I thought it was going to be today. I expected to talk more about grief and mourning and how crazy it is and how on days like today, the grief seems overwhelming. But instead it turned into a post about memories and somehow that has made me feel a bit better today.

I have felt a strong need for memories lately. I feel the need to hear stories about my mom, so if any of you have any you'd like to share, please pass them along. :-)

Three-quarters of a year. Some days I still can't believe she is gone. I have had a lot of fleeting moments lately of thinking I needed to call her and tell her something and then remembering I can't call her. Some days it seems so wrong that my mom isn't in this world anymore. Some days I just need her understanding and her protection. Some days I need her applause. But I am surviving without all of it. Instead I live with the memories and imagine what she would say to me in different situations.

Losing my mom has been life changing. That I know. I am stronger than ever before and I appreciate that. But the loss of my mom is still very tangible and real and still hits me out of nowhere some days. But the sun continues to rise and the sun continues to set and I keep moving forward. On days like today though, it's important to stop and reflect a little about what I've lost and what I've gained and where I am and so this blog post is apparently what came out in all that reflection. :-)

I love you mom and I still miss you so much.

Friends and Neighbors

Today was the memorial service for my mom and dad's friend, Jim. It was the first service I've been to since mom's. It was about as hard as I expected, and got a little harder when the video montage played and a picture of Jim and Nancy and my mom and dad came on the screen. I think I let out a gasp and then the tears started flowing. My eyes hurt right now. I watched Jim's wife, Nancy, a lot today. She looked so exhausted and beat down. I hurt for her. I plan to stay in touch with her. She is so lonely and sad and I could truly feel her pain. She lost one of her best friends (my mom) and her husband in a matter of months. And you can see it in her face.

I watched the video of a young Jim and Nancy. And in my head I replayed mom's video. A life lived flashed in moments on a screen. The minister mentioned a story when he was standing at a cemetery and a man asked him if he knew the most important part of a headstone...he didn't wait for an answer and went on to say it was the dash between the dates. That dash holds all the life lived, no matter how long or how short. I thought that was pretty profound.

I picture mom showing Jim around Heaven. Just as I pictured my mom's friend Eileen meeting mom when she arrived and showing her around.

I stopped at the cemetery on the way up today and found that mom is getting a new upstairs neighbor (that's the picture above). I also finally stopped to find where Eileen was buried (that's the other picture) and was pleased that she and mom could almost wave to one another. Thus the title of the post...I thought a lot about all the people that have been lost in the last year, including the new person that will be joining my mom in the Pieta at the cemetery. The cemetery was busy with preparation for lots of services today. My mom has joined friends and has friends joining her and new people she had never met in her life on earth.

Yet so many of us have been left behind. And the pain I saw in Nancy's face today was real and tangible and I could simply "feel" what she was feeling.

This is life. Death is part of it. But damn it is hard for those of left behind.

Today was long. It was full of tears. It was full of salt being poured into wounds that I thought were closed, but are obviously still open. I suppose today was just the first of many days like this over the course of my life.

It was a day of reflection. Those can be hard. But they can be good too.

I miss mom a lot today. But I hope she and Jim are laughing a lot together. That thought gives me some solace.

Rest in Peace Jim. You are missed.

Happy Birthday Mom

This year I didn't hunt for the perfect card to tell my mom how much I loved her even though our relationship had it's ups and downs. This year that ritual was very physically absent for me. I have avoided looking at any cards for anything. I haven't wanted to acknowledge that I will never buy another "Happy Birthday Mom" card.

I remember buying her card last year and falling apart because I knew it would be the last one. I remember making her a chocolate cake last year and then getting sick and not getting to spend the day with her. This year, I made the trek north to visit her at the cemetery. Dad and Michael met Olly and I there. I brought her flowers as usual. There were other flowers there...I don't know if someone left them for mom or if they were for Sybil, the woman just below her. I kind of feel like I know Sybil somehow too. I usually say Hi to her every time I visit mom. I know...I'm weird...but she and mom are neighbors. Anyway, not much was said by all of us, but it was good to be there. Dad and Olly and I went out for a nice brunch at Arnie's and then we took dad home and Olly fixed some computer problems he was having.

All in all, it was a good day. And I have survived the trifecta of holidays that I was dreading. My birthday, Mother's Day and mom's birthday. And I'm okay. I'm better. Time is helping. A couple of months ago, I didn't think it was, but getting through these events in one piece has helped.

On a side note, mom and dad's friend, Jim, finally lost his battle with cancer on May 30th. I knew it was coming, but it was still hard to hear. But somehow the idea of mom meeting him at the gates of Heaven and welcoming him in and showing him around made me smile. I know the two of them will laugh a lot together. His service is in 2 weeks. It will be the first memorial service I've been to since mom died. But somehow it's another sign that time has passed. Life (and death) continues.

I am incredibly sad that I will never celebrate another birthday with my mom, but on the way home today, I realized that I should have made that chocolate cake again this year. And I will from here on out for every birthday. She didn't get to enjoy cake for many, many years because of her diabetes. At the end, the cancer took over and she could eat what she wanted. And she never got that cake because I was sick. I'll make it for her every year now and will enjoy it for her. It won't be the same, but it will be in her honor.

Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.

Mother's Day with no mom

Well, my last post was all about my amazing revelations on my birthday. There was a big part of me that was hoping Mother's Day wouldn't be as bad as I was anticipating. Unfortunately, it started out worse than I expected.

I woke up sad and with a headache. As I got ready for the day, the emotions built up even though I tried to keep them down. I checked my facebook page and saw all the Happy Mother's Day messages and started to cry. It just all felt so empty to me and it made me sad. I know I'm a mom and this day was not just about MY mom but also about me...but to me...not having my mom here made the whole day seem hollow.

Then Olly's brother called and wanted to talk to me to wish me a Happy Mother's Day and I completely fell apart. I couldn't talk to him. I didn't want people to wish me a Happy Mother's Day because it simply wasn't a happy day for me. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until I was nearly hyperventilating. I swear I could "feel" my mom telling me that all of this wasn't necessary, but I hurt...I just hurt so deeply. I hadn't felt that way since shortly after she had died. I felt empty and sad and angry and I just wanted to run. I wanted to be away from people. I wanted to disappear for the day. I just wanted it to go away.

But there's no running away from reality...so I composed myself and decided to go grocery shopping before we had to leave to pick up the boys and head up north. Don't ask me why. I don't know why. I just needed to go somewhere where I was anonymous and could just blend in. What I didn't realize was how many people would be at the store at 8am buying flowers for their moms. And then that just made me even more angry. I picked up my few groceries and headed home.

We left to pick up the boys and I couldn't get rid of the sadness. I was so happy to have them with me, but I couldn't make the sadness go away.

We got to the cemetery and there were so many people there...which I expected. But my hope that I could go and just fall apart didn't work as well because I felt inhibited by all the people there. However, after about 5 minutes or so, I had a good cry with mom and, as I usually do, I felt a sense of peace overtake me. It was good and much-needed in order to help me get through my day.

My spirits lifted a little. I checked my e-mail from my phone and had beautiful messages from several people letting me know they were thinking of me today and commenting on my mothering with such kind words. I have incredible friends.

By the time we got to dad's, I was feeling a little better, but boy, were my eyes just burning and puffy! I asked dad if he'd be open to going to the casino and gambling a little in honor of mom. He said sure so he and I headed off and spent about an hour and a half at the casino (thank you Olly for staying at dad's and watching the boys so we could do this!). It was packed and there were moments when I felt bitter and angry about how many women were there with their mothers and how many women I saw there who were significantly older than my mom would ever get to be. But for the most part, it was exactly what I felt like I should be doing today. I am not a gambler, but mom loved it and I knew that to fully honor her on Mother's Day a trip to the casino was necessary. And I was right. It felt perfect.

Dad and I didn't get any luck from mom and left with less than we came in with...except it was the best part of my day. And that was worth it. :-)

It's 6:30pm now and Mother's Day is nearing it's close and I am grateful for that. Nonetheless, the day did improve from this morning and I'm glad I made the trip up north to be with dad. I don't know when Mother's Day will feel like it's a day about me, but I'm sure it will come in time. This year it was about my mom. And that felt like the way it should be.

I found some wonderful comments about the loss of a mother and the words of these authors resonate with me very deeply.

Christopher Buckley (son of William F. Buckely Jr.) was interviewed by AARP magazine about losing both his parents. The interviewer asked him, "It's been said that the relationship with one's parents doesn't end with their loss, but it does change." and his answer was, "It never goes away, and they never go away. Your parents are your ultimate protectors, and no matter what difficulties you're having with them when they're alive, you can always pick up the phone and hear their voices. They provide a certain level of comfort—just knowing they're there. They're like fire extinguishers mounted on the wall behind glass. You know if it really comes to it, you can break the glass. And now they're gone."

And that is EXACTLY how I feel. Mom and I had our moments. We had our ups and downs, but ultimately no matter where we were in our relationship, I knew that if I needed her, she would be right there on the other side of the phone. That is gone. And I do feel like one of my protectors is gone. My "fire extinguisher" is only half full now...

And Iris Krasnow, one of my favorite authors wrote a column about losing her mom several years back. These are some of my favorite excerpts...you can read the full article here:
http://www.aarpmagazine.org/people/on_my_own_iris_krasnow.html (and yes...I'm spending time on the AARP website...I had to look it up for my Social Gerontology class this term and have fallen in love with it...what that says about me...I don't know...;-))

"She watched my hair turn gray, my arthritis set in, and my four baby boys become teens with stubble. Yet to Helene Krasnow, no matter my age, I was always her little girl. At times now, without her, I feel like one. I'm old enough to be a grandma myself, but this slap of loss leaves me heaving, at odd moments, with kindergarten sobs. No one loves a daughter like her mother—even at times when it doesn’t feel like love, when that love confuses, annoys, suffocates. She is a mirror and an anchor. She is the person I counted on to push my hair out of my eyes, to buffer me from bullies, to lead the way.

After more than half a century together, separating is staggering. Today I grieve for a woman who not only grilled my cheese sandwiches until I was 18 but also grew into my drinking buddy (vodka martinis, slightly dirty, two olives), staunch advocate, staunch adversary, the most loyal girlfriend I will ever have. My mother preserved my whole history as if it were a precious quilt, patching together stages with pictures and notes, keeping the sprawling bolt of fabric intact. And when that primal and seemingly ancient connection was cut, it was like being yanked from the womb again—only it was way tougher than the first time. She grew on me and in me, and the distinction of selves became blurred. We shared a heart."

"What I learned during those final months was that resolving your relationship with your mother while she's alive makes for a more centered, settled self when she dies. With clarity and closure, the jolting passage from girl to woman born at my mother's burial was more emancipating than debilitating. Only when my mother moved on was I able to take the best of her, leave the worst behind, and become an unstoppable blend of the two of us.

Surging with the spirit of Helene, I am surprisingly giddy with a sense of adventure and invincibility that is rising like a phoenix from the ashes of grief. I am relieved that she is no longer suffering. I am released to become an unbridled woman who doesn’t have to please anyone anymore. For as long as I can remember, I would hesitate before making major decisions, gauging my moves on: “Would Mom approve?” Mom is someone else now, the power that fuels me, but no longer my judge. I am free.

I can write my first work of fiction, and it can be the most raw and sexual piece of beach trash anyone has ever devoured on a vacation.

I can wear hippie skirts and unkempt hair and not be greeted with a dramatic eye roll.

I can learn to mother myself; it's about time.

I can be absolutely fearless, since one of my biggest fears has already occurred—I lost my mother, and I am okay.

Each afternoon, I talk to her photograph, a shot of her as a wild-haired teen with a seductive grin. The picture is next to a pumpkin-spice candle, both placed on a silk scarf she adored. By the pungent flicker of the flame, I am awash in certainty that we are one. I wailed when my mom was dying and wondered: “Who will I be when my mother is gone?” Standing on the other side, I am happy to discover who that person is: I am my mother's daughter, an adult woman who will persevere. I could live another 40 years, and she prepared me well to make this voyage without her, however lonely it may get."

Aaaahhhh...I love Iris Krasnow and her words deeply touched my heart in ways that I simply can't explain. It is though she is speaking for me.

I survived another holiday. Honestly, it was the hardest so far. Mom's birthday is next. And then, somehow, I will feel like I have survived it all. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Dad's Birthday, Easter, My Birthday, Mother's Day, Mom's Birthday. Those are the biggees and I've almost survived them all. Mom and Dad's anniversary in September and the anniversary of mom's death in October will be hard, but I feel like today was truly the hardest. And look at me...I'm still breathing. This morning I was hyperventilating, but tonight I am breathing well. I am at peace with the first Mother's Day without my mom as the day comes to an end. I am glad to send it away and wish it well. But I made it through. I honored my mom in a way I know had her smiling.

Thank you to everyone who checked in on me today and let me know you were thinking of me. You have no idea how much those little notes helped me get through today.

I may no longer have my mom, but I have an incredible family and incredible friends and I am blessed to work in a job where I continuously witness women becoming mothers. It's wonderful work.

Term 5 starts tomorrow. It's back to the grind for the next 32 weeks straight. But I can survive anything. I know that without a doubt these days. That doesn't mean I won't stumble, but I will get up, brush myself off, and get right back on track knowing that "this too shall pass".

My mom taught me that...

Happy Mother's Day Mom! I love you!

Pedestals

When I started this blog, it was for me. I know that many people read it now, but I still try to be true to myself and not write for anyone else. Today's post may not be enjoyable for some people to read, but this is where I am today and it's important to ME. So, you've been warned. Don't read any further if you don't want to.

Today is my 41st birthday. I have been dreading this day. I felt a terrible sense of loss looming. I have written about it a couple of times here. I expected that I would feel very sad today on my first birthday after my mom died. No birthday card would be coming from my mom. It would be noticeable. However, I had no idea what would truly be noticeably missing.

I ended up spending 20 hours at a birth that rolled into my birthday. This is the 2nd year in a row that I've had a client have her baby on my birthday. I rang in my birthday at Midnight with a client dealing with a long and difficult birth. And as the clock turned Midnight, an overwhelming sadness took over me. I wasn't surprised. I had plans for this day. I had wanted to go to the cemetery. But I knew that on no sleep, I couldn't drive up there today. It wasn't safe. And I was sad about that.

But by the time I was driving home, around 3:30am, I was feeling upbeat about my birthday. As I drove onto my street, a bright light shone from out of the sky. It made me stop my car and look at it. It was simply the nearly full moon shining through a patch of clouds. But it lit up the sky and seemed to be speaking just to me. I felt something that said it was okay not to go to the cemetery today. That it was not a necessary trip. That today was going to hold something else. Something I needed to experience and honor. It gave me a sense of calm. When I got home, I took a shower and crawled into bed around 4am. I slept for about 2 hours when the boys got up and I rose with them to start my day.

But what hit me when I got up was something I didn't expect. I was feeling something I didn't quite understand. When I woke, my initial gut reaction was, "It's my birthday, I wonder if mom will call me today." That was my reaction because that's what I thought on every birthday during my adulthood. My mom never called me on my birthday. Yes, she sent a card. Yes, she sent money. But she never called. She never went out of her way to wish me a Happy Birthday and over the years, it started to build up. About 4 years ago, it really peaked and I actually didn't talk to mom all day. I normally would cave around dinner time and call her. But 4 years ago I didn't give in and I didn't speak to my mom on my birthday. And it kind of broke my heart.

I can't imagine not talking to my kids on their birthdays. They are such gifts to me. Their birthdays are incredibly important to me. And I'll admit that while growing up, my mom gave me some nice birthday parties. But once I hit adulthood, apparently she just didn't feel the need to even make a phone call.

But she also repeated to me over and over during the course of my life that the day of my birth was the worst day of her life. Yes...she said that. Out loud. To my face. And no, I don't think she was really kidding. And even if she was...why would you say that to your child? Over and over throughout the course of their life?

And this morning...all of that came rushing back in a flood of emotions. And I realized that many of my birthdays were wrapped up in wanting to be with my mom or hear from my mom because I wanted that validation that my birthday was important to the woman that gave it to me. But I'm not really sure that it was. Maybe not until last year. And I'll take that and I'll honor it. And I am grateful for the fences that were mended last year. But it was very obvious to me when I awoke this morning that I have work left to do. My birthday brought a renewal of deep seated feelings. And I thought to myself...today my mom will not call me...not because she won't, but because she can't. And as ugly as it sounds to say it out loud, there is a part of me that feels more comfortable with that today. I have not sat around waiting for her to call. I did not make a pilgrimage to the cemetery to find that connection that I tried to find every year on my birthday. I didn't "need" that this year. I found the connection I needed last year. I do believe many old wounds were healed. But today, on THIS birthday, the day became very noticeably MINE. And in some small, confusing, hard-to-understand way, it gave me a sense of peace on this day alone.

I will go to the cemetery on Mother's Day and I will cry for all I have lost because I DO miss my mom. Terribly. I will go to the cemetery on her birthday and mourn the fact that she will never see another birthday and that breaks my heart. Truly. I miss my mom. I miss what I feel like we were just starting to understand about each other. None of that is changed by what I feel today. But today was freeing in a way that no day has been in a long time.

I read somewhere that when someone dies, we put them up on a pedestal and we remember all the good things and forget the negative. That makes sense. But I also remember reading that there are times during grief, that the pedestal comes down a bit as we start coming to terms with reality and remembering more specifics about the one we lost. I believe today was a piece of that. I think it's actually healthy. Even though it does still sound kind of ugly to say it all "out loud" for the world to see and hear. But it is my truth and this is my blog and it is my birthday and I get to say what I want. :-)

I don't know why my mom chose to have me when she didn't want me. I don't know if she did it because that was what was expected of her. I don't know if she felt she had no other choice. I don't know any of the answers. But she did have me. She did give me my birthday and I honor that today. She raised me well and I appreciate all that she gave me. I miss her dearly. Every day.

But I am taking back my birthday. I don't have to look for her love or approval on this day anymore. And I am making this day mine again. I don't have to sit and wait for her to call anymore and get more and more worked up as the day goes on. This day belongs to me. Today I had many e-mails and facebook messages and texts from friends and family. I feel loved. In years past all those people could have done the same thing and I would still have felt something missing at the end of my day when my mom didn't call. I won't feel that today. Do I feel a hole every single day of my life? Absolutely. But today will be no different. It won't be more of a hole. And it won't ruin my day.

I loved my mom and I know she loved me. That is enough now. It wasn't before, but it is now. Today I let go of all those past years that I let her have control over my birthday. Today I take my birthday back and make it my day. She gave it to me and I love her for that. But for many years I gave her a large chunk of my day. I originally wanted to say she took it from me, but I don't think that's fair. She couldn't take anything that I wasn't giving. And today, I took it back. And that feels good too.

So, I'd like to say I'm sorry if any of this offended anyone, but I'm not. Because these are my feelings and that's what this blog was for originally. And as I take back my birthday, it means not letting my feelings and emotions be controlled by anyone else. That will probably always be a work in progress. But today was a start.

Today has been a good day. It has been a calming day. It has been a birthday like no other birthday has been as long as I can remember. The dread I had for it did not materialize. Yes, something completely different was unearthed when I woke this morning. But it was healing. And healing is good.

So, today I thank my mom for giving me my birthday. I am sure 41 years ago was a pretty terrifying day for her. She was beginning the recovery from a cesarean birth with a baby she didn't really want in a city far away from anyone she knew. I'm not sure I could have done all that. I'm not sure I could have pushed through. And so, today I honor her for giving me this day. And today I also take it back as MY day. My mom gave it to me. But now it's time to take it and make it my own. And I do it filled with love...not anger, not sadness, not grief...but love alone. And for the first birthday in many, many years, I feel complete and utter joy and gratitude to my mom and all those that love me enough to have taken a moment out of their day to let me know they were thinking of me today. I was blessed 41 years ago with the gift of my live. I am blessed today as I have been given a life, renewed. And without my mom I would not have had any of that. And that is the ultimate blessing of all.