MomsGirl

Grace, I'm so sorry, I am crying right now. Carlton will always love you, and I know he thanked God for having you by his side during those hardest of days. Your daughters are very lucky to have you...draw from them that healing unconditional love that is so unique to children. You are in my prayers tonight....

Last night I was very sad thinking about the one-year mark of losing my mom. I'd been outside most of the day and it was sunny and hot, and I'd come in to make dinner. I decided to go get the trashcan from the curb, just to get out of the house before I became tearful again, and I walked out the door and noticed it had suddenly clouded up, but no trace of rain. Right in the middle of the clouds was a beautiful full rainbow. It stretched from one end of the sky to the other. I haven't seen a rainbow here in the nine years we've lived in this neighborhood. I called the kids out and my little daughter said "Look what Nana made us! Thank you Nana, it's bee-yoo-tiful!" I smiled for the first time that day...

Oh, Connie, so young, both of you. Prayers to you and your wonderful dad tonight...

Dear Mom, It’s been one year today since I last saw your beautiful face. No illness, no matter how devastating, could ever take that away from you. It may have stolen some of your dignity in the end, but your beauty remained. Watching you take your last breath while we desperately said we love you over and over, like you were standing on the deck of a ship and sailing away…that will always be the most heartfelt moment of my life. I actually saw your soul leave your body, and at that moment I just wanted to follow you. I was thinking oh my GOD, Mom, please don’t leave me, PLEASE don’t leave me, I can’t bear it…yet I knew I had no control and had to take this last moment with you and cherish it forever. You were such a vibrant, well-loved and yes, feisty little person, all 4’ 11” of you. Wife, mother of five, grandmother of 14. You were the most generous person I have ever known, you cared about everyone and took care of everyone you knew (or didn’t know). You would literally give someone the shirt off your back. Your beloved little brother said in his eulogy that at the time of his college graduation, when you were a struggling young military wife and mother living far away and neither of you had a penny to your names, he received a note that there was a brand new navy blazer waiting for him at the men’s shop nearby. You couldn’t let him graduate without a decent sportcoat – that is so you. He never, ever forgot that. As a mom, well what can I say. I was a mama’s girl from the start. You brought me home from the hospital on your 30th birthday, and you always told me I was the “best present you ever got”. I had a stomachache every day of kindergarten, remember? Because I missed my mommy and I also felt guilty for leaving you all alone to care for my baby sister without my “help”. How funny is that? You were probably dancing in the streets because you had a little break! When I was sick you let me stay in you and Dad’s bed and watch TV and you would give me backscratches and make me egg sandwiches, and you would press your soft cheek against my forehead to check for a fever. You always smelled so good, and I always felt so safe and loved with you. And fast forwarding to my life now, no matter what happened you were right there with me. You cried with joy when Kyle was born, loved him with such a passion from the minute he entered this world. When I found out my second baby had no heartbeat and I had to deliver her, the very first person I called was you, sobbing that the baby is gone, the baby is gone…and you went right into mom mode and with military precision got everything lined up with the family to babysit Kyle, and then held my hand and were so strong for me when I had to say goodbye to my tiny daughter. I know these things tore at your soft heart, and sometimes I felt guilty for putting you through them. When I told you that, you said simply, “Michele, I couldn’t be anywhere else.” But now I think of the things I will have to face in the future, both happy and sad, without you. I already am facing them, so many things this year. So many firsts I can’t share with you, so many day to day things. When I told you about the baby I was expecting you were so sick from the chemo, but you jumped up from the table and your eyes lit up and you said “A new life, a new life! That’s just what we need around here…” And then you made me laugh so hard when you looked at me very seriously and said “I THOUGHT something was going on, because your chest has looked bigger.” Only a mom would say that. And we laughed about the fact that while you were throwing up from the chemo early on, I was throwing up in the backyard bushes because I didn’t want you to hear me and know I was pregnant yet! You ALWAYS knew before I told you. But this time you really didn’t, you had more important things to worry about. And that was the beginning of the change of life as I knew it. I never imagined I would be where I am today, without you. My deepest fear was that you would not live to see the baby born, but I never really let myself think it would come to pass. So I just want to say that I’m trying, Mom, I’m trying to be as strong as you were. I can only dream of being one-tenth the person you were. I will forever strive to be the woman you raised me to be. And I will keep your memory alive in the minds of your grandchildren, they will always know how much you loved them and cared for them, what a very special nana you were to them and how much they worshipped you. And I’m so, so sorry that you lost your life in this struggle – we tend to think a lot about ourselves, because we are left behind, but I also think about you, and how you lost the biggest thing of all. I’m so very sorry for that…. So Mommy, wherever you are, know that I love you and I will miss you always, always.

Well, I was laying in bed early this morning waiting for the onslaught of little ones, listening to the baby ga-ga-gooing in his crib, my husband long gone on a business trip, and I was feeling so, so sad about my mom. Missing her so much, wondering if anyone would notice if I just never got out of bed. Tears had just started to slip out of my eyes and into my pillow, and I was thinking I just can't go on without her...when I heard the most incredible thing from the nursery. My son Conor, who is almost nine months old and not talking yet, said clear as a bell in a very needy voice, "Mum-mum-MUM! Mum-mum-mum..." He was actually calling me. I thought I was hearing things, but it just continued. For the rest of the day whenever I would put him down to crawl he would say that when he needed me. He was so pleased with himself, bless his heart... I have to believe that it was my mom giving me a nudge, a reminder that I have to keep going on, that I have reasons to go on. My sister cried when I told her and said it was absolutely Mom. Who knows, but I wonder at the timing of things sometimes...maybe I am looking for signs, and I so want to believe she is part of all of this...

Wow. WOW, Val. You have inspired me. Church, children, flowers and milkshakes - all things I would associate with my mom, and happiness. I thought I would cry reading your post, and instead I smiled. You really made me think about what would make my MOM happy on this upcoming one-year date I have been dreading. Wish I could promise to myself that I will do any or all of the above, but it may be too fresh still?...but at least it's got me thinking in a different direction... I am so glad you got through this day the way that you did. Your mom is proud and she is shining down on you. Big, big hugs to you and your girls...

What a wonderful and meaningful gesture. I love that they were red, too... Hugs to you...

Cried at Target today in the Back to School department - a lot. I was embarrassed, and the kids were kind of surprised b/c it's been a while, but also kind of whatever b/c they got used to it happening in the months after I lost Mom. It was all over a lunchbox for Kyle. He's going into first grade this year and I realized he needed a lunchbox for the first time in his life. He found the one he wanted and looked up at me, so excited and grown up, with his front tooth newly missing, and all I could think of is she's missing all this, she's missing all this. I HATE that she is missing this more than anything. And here at home, all of the baby's toys were once Kyle's, and many of them were from my mom. Playing with them is so bittersweet. The little wooden blocks that Kyle loved so dearly, my mom searched the stores high and low b/c she insisted that all babies must have wooden blocks. I pulled them out recently and Conor (the baby) is now obsessed with them - yesterday he propped himself on his fat little arms and started to knock down every building I built and then laugh himself silly. That was my mom's favorite game with Kyle, I can still see them sitting in the same place on our family room rug doing it for hours and my mom acting all indignant when Kyle would smash her block buildings to bits and he would giggle like crazy. It's a game that never got old. So in the midst of Conor's joy and my joy in playing it with him for the first time, I cried. Oh well, such is life now...

Val. What a beautiful tribute to your mom and your life with her. And your passage by Patti Davis, how true is that as time passes? So true. I cried the whole way through your blog post. I cried for you and your girls and your mom. I was just thinking about my mom and the one-year-mark coming up, and I randomly logged on and there was your post. I can relate to every single thing you wrote. Hang in there, you wonderful daughter and wonderful mom. Your mom would be so proud of you. Big hugs to you...

I did not know Bill from his posts, so I looked him up and read several of them. What an eloquent, insightful and yes, funny guy. And your description of his last days was wonderful and heartwrenching at the same time, if that makes any sense. It sounds like his determination to do things with dignity and humor was just how things turned out, as physically challenging as it was. You were so blessed to have each other, and I am so very sorry for your loss. Prayers go out to you, and I'll say one for your dear Bill...

Oh, Carleen, feeling the way I do about my husband, I do not know what to say. Your pain resonates, and imagining it is almost unbearable. You are a loving and good soul, he was so lucky to have you in his life and have you by his side in good times and in bad. Try to take a small amount of comfort in the joy that you brought him every day. I'm so very sorry you are going through this...hugs to you...

Cindy, I am so sorry...

Stacey, I could have written your post. My kids were 5 and 3 at the time we lost my mom, and they were surgically attached to her, as was I. She was such a huge part of our lives. I could not, and cannot, understand it. As close as they were to her, how will they ever remember that bond? As much as I talk about her, how will they remember the wonderful, amazing nana she was to them? I feel your pain, and I'm sorry you are going through this. You are not alone...I pray that you will find some peace someday soon...

Kim, Kim, I don't know where to start. What a hard thing. It's so unfair, it just is. I'm so sorry. Here's my take...it might get better as the vacation goes on. I just got back from a week at my parents' summer house on Lake Ontario in upstate New York. Well, I should say my MOM'S lake house. It was her world, she grew up there, her family is there (in the houses right next to hers!), she lived there every summer (as us kids did when were young). My dad always resented it to some degree, that connection. Jealousy, I guess. Maybe b/c she left him every summer to go to her other home. Everyone loved her there, she was the life of the beach. Last year, as sick as she was, she was determined to make it up there for the annual Christmas In July party on the beach - when she got out of the car in front of the party, bald and weak having just finished brain radiation, everyone stood up and applauded and she just cried. It was the last real time I got to spend with her - she passed away two weeks later. I sat with her in her room facing the lake, bathed her, rubbed her fluid-swollen feet, and loved her, never wanting to think this would be our last time there together. Her dream was always to have the house be our legacy, and though I dreaded going this year more than anything, since I've never been there without her, I knew I had to. The minute we turned onto the lake road I was sobbing uncontrollably, and by the time we got to the house at the end of the road I couldn't breathe. She was not running out to get my kids out of the van and fold them in her arms as she always, always did. My wonderful husband busied himself "unpacking" the van and let me go inside alone (my dad was not there yet). I walked in and the silence, the lack of her warmth, the absence of my kids' favorite treats on the counter, no smell of cookies fresh out of the oven, no portacrib set up in the bedroom, no toys all lined by the door, the filled sandbox not out front, no sheets on the beds...by the time I got to her bedroom I was on my knees almost screaming Why, why, why? Just writing this makes me sob. But...after a few days of sobbing, you know what? It was better. Not good, but so much better. I don't know why. Maybe because she would have wanted us there, it's what we were supposed to do, with or without her?...Maybe getting that precious time with my husband and kids, feeling his love and their joy at being there? I don't know. I guess I think your mom would feel the same way. She sounds like she was that kind of wonderful woman. She would want you to go on this trip and get some joy out of it. I only hope that you will find some measure of peace on this journey. I get it, I understand, and I'm sorry. Please let us know how it goes, please. Hugs to you..

Nick, It's kind of like when you have an injury and someone makes you laugh and it hurts, that pain/laughter thing is how I feel right now. When I read your post I winced and shook my head that people can be so blind, but you just gotta laugh it off sometimes. And I know what you mean about her being gone forever to everyone else, you're just over it, right? Sadly, one day they will understand...something I would not wish on anyone. Take care..

Val, My one-year mark is coming up and I'm already starting to walk through the events leading up that awful day...or should I say week. I so like the way your phrased it as an act of love. Gave me a little peace. I think of you often and your sweet girls. It must be so hard with your husband shipped out. PM me anytime, and hugs are going out to you tonight...

Kim, My heart hurts reading your post. I know, I know. It's amazing how much the presence of our mom in this world validates every aspect of our lives. Not having her here is so unthinkable, and when it happens it's like a nuclear bomb went off and your just staggering around in a grey landscape. I guess that sounds dramatic, but I think it's true. I'm thinking of you tonight. You have an inner strength that you don't even realize you have...hang in there...

Melinda, I'm so sorry about your grandmother, and the double loss you are feeling right now. My prayers go out to you...

Kelly- Tears in my eyes reading your post...it made me smile and cry. You getting the patches on, and the image of your son marching in the parade and that tugging at your heart, wishing that your mom could be there to see it. How many times have I experienced that in the last year, I can't count. Good girl, Mom would be proud!

Val, I loved your description of your parents in the '70's - I can picture it, right down to the slightly blurry 70's photo. Your post brought me some joy today, thank you. It sounds like your parents had a good life together, and that is truly a wonderful thing...

You're right, if it's the place where she spent the last month of her life, that would be so painful. I understand your fear - like pouring salt in a wound that is starting to heal. I think you need to do what's right for you right now... Hugs...

Tanner, You are in my prayers, I'm so very sorry...

Nick, so introspective. I really hope this is a breakthrough for you, I applaud your honesty about your feelings. Again, what a lucky woman your mother was to have you...

I am so very, very sorry. I'm sure he knew how much you loved him and felt your presence there...

Missy, What a completely awful time for you. You are not a crappy mom, you are a grieving daughter, a woman about to give birth, a loving mother. And I can so relate to what you just went through. I had to sit through a baby shower without my mom, and my daughter also got pneumonia this year...and she ended up being taken from the pediatrician's office to the ER by ambulance. Talk about guilt. And I battled with a few of the rooms in our house - when I was eight months pregnant (two months after I lost my mom), my husband found me one day in a fetal position just sobbing into piles of maternity clothes I was trying to organize and ended up violently throwing all over the room. They were literally hanging off of the lamps. I think I also was not kind to our bathroom...another sobbing and pregnant fetal position incident with everything thrown into the bathtub. Be kind to yourself, you are doing what every mom has to do, loving her kids, no matter what devastation has rocked your world, and your family knows it and understands. On top of everything else you are pregnant, and there are no words for what that feels like at a time like this. Hang in there...