Author in Progress

 

It has been awhile since I've visited my little corner of the world here. I have been writing though. . . 90,106 words to be exact! Mid September an idea for a story was born at the cemetery of all places, while I was visiting my mom. I dutifully wrote 1,000+ words a day/three days a week until I had a complete manuscript I've named, The Cemetery Club. While it is a story about finding hope in the unlikeliest of places, it brought me hope during a difficult time. I firmly believe I sleptwalked through year one after losing my mom and brother twenty-four days apart. Simply writing twenty-four days does something to my heart. I still find it unbelieveable that I am living life without two of the largest personalities in my family. 

Year two feels more real, more raw. There is this realization that they are not coming back and getting lost in writing a fictional story helped me through the dark days. Stepping into my characters shoes and wiritng their stories gave me hope in living my own. Once upon a time, a really long time ago, I wanted to be a writer. I was even a Communications major before all the self doubt creeped in and I chose a safer option: a teacher. It is a noble profession, but not the dream I wore since childhood. I found ways to incorporate my passion for books and writing with my students, but I buried the dream I had for myself. In a world of many voices and storytellers, I let myself believe that mine wasn't good enough.

Something happened when I lost my mom and brother. All of a sudden the reality of the fragility of life was staring me in the face. Both my mom and brother lived their lives in a way that was bold and loud. They pursued their dreams. They didn't play it safe like I did. And suddenly, I craved that for my own life. I commited to myself to write the story. I am receiving coaching from a reputable, successful author.  I will be published. My mom and brother may not be here, but their untold stories will be my inspiration. In following my own childhood dream, perhaps I'll heal the parts of me that are broken as well. 

Stories are best when shared. I am grateful for the opportunity to share mine with you.

That Was Then. This is Now.

It is different, but still good. Happy Father's Day, Dad. You've handled the last eight months of catastrophic loss with love and grace. You are doing the work to grow through the grief, and I am so very thankful for the ways you've shown up even on the hard days. I notice. My kids notice. Mom and John Michael would be proud. 

I love you more. xoxox

Mourning on Mother's Day

Sitting in the quiet of a sleeping house, I woke to my first Mother's Day without you. There is no fan fare, gift given, food made, that will ever replace the ache that is in my heart without you here. As fate would have it,  I am sick again. There would be nothing that would have kept you away. You would have arrived, home made soup in hand, and just sat with me for awhile. We would have watched a movie. Remember how we were supposed to see, Book Club 2? Well, it's out now. You were so good at showing up and you always chose us. Your presence, such a comforting gift. The only one I really ever needed.

I can see now, some of the things that made you "you," are some of the qualities that I will spend the rest of my life trying to emulate. Bits and pieces of your vivaciousness, your generosity, your laughter, your light. These are the gifts I will carry tucked away in my heart, and hopefully given away to the world. I am only me because of you.

It is lonely here without you. No one seems to care, love, or know me in the same way you did. I carry this grief around like a second layer of skin. It is always with me and I desperately want to shed it. I want to only think of you with that joy that you so beautifully exuded. I want to laugh a little louder, love a little larger, and live a life that you would continue to be proud of. 

I will think of you as we celebrate with our favorite brunch foods this morning. Anjalene did everything herself, without being asked. It was her idea to celebrate in the same way we usually did. I will miss your large laugh as we toasted the morning away with mimosas in hand. Janessa, your mini me, will say and do things that will give me pause as I see so much of you in her. I will appreciate these glimpses and proudly let her be herself. She is growing so confident and secure in her own skin. She definitely gets that from you! Jonathan, will quietly miss you in his own way, his saddness tucked away in the recesses of his heart. He will keep working and doing just like you did because, "That's what Grandma would do," he'd say. He would be right. Anthony will probably work and stop by late or on another day, and you'd tell me, "He'll come back. He knows where his place to land is." You, of course, would be right...just like you were with Little. Ernie will make me laugh as he often does retelling the best stories of you. You spent so much time with us, there are plenty, and one day I will write them down so my kids will know their great grandma too.

I hate doing this life without you. I wish we had more time. We were so different, but so the same if that is even possible. There is this tiny bit of peace that you have John Michael to celebrate with you, and then my heart breaks all over again because I just can't fathom he is gone too.

"Enough tears," you would say. The kids will be up soon. They need me. Just as we were your why; they are mine. There is food to eat, stories to tell, life to live, and I am here to live it.  Happy Heavenly Mother's Day, Mom.

Love you forever; I'll miss you for always.

Easter 2023

He is risen! Stay risen!

It's in the darkest hour when your thoughts catch up with you. I've been awake since three am. I didn't even try to go back to sleep. Instead, I've been reading these snippets of a life that seems forever ago. I hope one day these blog posts serve as a reminder to my kids of the good life we have been fortunate enough to live.  Maybe it is in this season of mourning that these memories are especially comforting. They remind me,  that was before. This is now.

We just celebrated our first Easter without my mom and brother. To be honest, we have not typically celebrated Easter together since my parent's divorce five years ago so it didn't feel  that  different. I remember the first Easter after they separated and knew being together would be too hard for us, so we began to visit and stay with E's family out of state. It was the one holiday, I told my Mom we had to have with his family. She understood. This year we actually were on a camp trip to wind down multiple conflicting spring breaks. It was good for my senses to be out in nature. I love the beach. My brother loved the beach too. My mom, not so much. . .but she was a good sport about it. The sunrises and sunsets were painted masterpieces across the sky that I needed to see: God's glory in full effect during Holy Week.

We went to church later than usual. We ate dinner with my Dad and Anthony, texted with our oldest and his wife. Lene and I visited Uncle Craig because I know my Mom would have. I missed seeing all the cousins together, but I was right where I needed to be. I'm in a season that needs to figure out what I need. I am missing the people who I shared the most life with. I am giving myself permission to be where I need to be. I am giving myself permission to be who I need to be. I am asking questions that need to be asked as I'm on the rounding up to fifty spectrum. We are making plans just in case, because. . .we've experienced tragedy and then tragedy again. We can never be too prepared.

It's four am. I go to the gym at 5:30. I work at 7:45. In this quiet moment, thoughts of my past bring me comfort and joy. Grief is lonely, even when you are blessed with the most incredible friends, you feel alone in your struggles. Grief and joy, such conflicting emotions as a son readies to turn 18 and graduate. Life keeps moving forward. Ready or not. What is it I want most? Where do I want to go? How do I want to live? These are the questions my three am brain yearns to answer. This post is all over the place. . .kind of like my sleepy three am brain, I guess.

Easter 2023

Uncle Craig: Easter 2023

My Support System is. . .

My support system is a beautiful example of the friendships I have nourished through the years. My friendships are the family I choose. Although I never questioned any of my friends in my circle and their loyalty or their ability to show up, this grieving experience has literally opened my eyes to the exquisite beauty who are my friends. If you have never read the story of the female elephants, please do so:  

https://jenhatmaker.com/the-elephant-story/

I first heard the story years ago after a woman from work lost her husband suddenly. I remember our administrators telling us the story and the picture they presented her. I remember the feeling of awe in the room as mostly women, many of whom did not know this woman or her husband, were filled with deep empathy, care, and concern for the woman returning to her post. There was a palpable feeling of support in that room full of virtual strangers. I've never forgotten that moment, but have never experienced my own elephant circling and gathering until I lost my mom. Then again twenty-four days later, they rallied their herd and surrounded my from the moment I heard of my brother's accident. I have been so incredibly blessed by these women and their unwavering support. They randomly text me elephants. They check in frequently. They invite me to do life with them. They pray for me and with me. They keep showing up and loving me and my family despite distance, time, or anything else that may get in the way.

One of the best things about my friends is that they are from many different time periods of my life. Some of my closest friends go back to our first day of high school; some from college; some from my kid's preschool days; some from elementary school, some from sports, some from church; some from multiple work sites, and some from my neighborhood. What a blessed life to live with these beautiful people! Friends from all walks of life and across the years have gathered in their circle of support and allowed me the space I needed to literally pick myself up from the floor. They have wiped my tears so I can see again. They have sat with me in silence when the grief has no words. On the 23rd of the month, many send little love notes and do random acts of kindness with me to honor my mom's life. They are present. They are a present. Never before have I known this level of support. I only hope I can always offer them the same. 

For Such a Time as This

Cocooning is a natural part of grieving for me. Pulling in my immediate family within the confines of my four walls, loving on them, leaning with them, all of us learning to do life in a way that is drastically different. The noise of the outside world too chaotic at times for me to partake. I know I need to preserve my energy and plan days with nothing but white around the edges. A long time ago, when all the kids were younger, balance felt so hard. Now it feels as normal as breathing. Yes, if I want to; No, if I don't. There are no apologies for this season of rest. Focusing on my mental and physical health is a necessity for such a time as this.

Putting up boundaries, no longer putting out fires, simply cherishing the every day life that we are blessed to live is my present. The truth is, when it is all said and done, your immediate family is all that you have. Luckily for me, we have poured in to each other and we are open to the shifting seasons. With an adult son grown, two in college, and one about to start, it makes sense to be available when they are, to make plans with them in it and to simply be together. Everyone's schedule is different now. We have jobs and school, but sitting around the table and story telling is important enought that we have reinstated Sunday family dinners. I will often try a recipe from the gazillion my mom collected. The keepers will go in to the family cookbook. The others, I am not afraid to throw away. Memory making one meal at a time. My mom would like this new tradition.

Adventuring has taken on a new meaning as well. We have five trips planned over the next seven months. These trips give something for us to look forward to. They are planned well in advance so the older kids can ask for time off if they want to, but they are small treasure troves of adventuring with which we will make the best new memories regardless of who is there. 

Every day at two pm, my alarm goes off. There is a quote I refer to daily, that reminds me, " That was before. This is now." A lot of days there's a battle going on in my mind for what it used to look and feel like and what it actually does. This little dose of reality calls a truce in my brain. What it was versus what it is. I am learning to accept it.

In a lot of ways, memories of my early childhood with my brother have mostly brought me joy. I mean, there was that one time he called 911 and chased me with a butter knife, but he was my first friend. And although we were opposites like water and oil, there was an unmistakeable protectiveness about him, an annoyance that he always wanted to play with me and my neighborhood friends, an admiration for his ease in talking to all those he met. He was my entire childhood. Good, bad, and everything in between, there is no one that I have that in common with. He is not here to share those stories, to make the new memories as the adults we are now with kids who are growing up. The next chapter was starting and now it's finished before it even began.

There is deep saddness when one realizes that I am the keeper of our childhood stories. There is no longer my person to banter back and forth with ease in the story telling. There is no one who knows the highest of highs and the lowest of lows that were experienced in our childhood home together. My brothers take on the entirety of our growing up years is just gone. That alone makes me want to write our Durango Dukes adventures to share with a new generation. Perhaps my next chapter will include that. Not sure. I'm simply journaling through this experience of loss. Healing my heart, one post at a time.

Dear Mom

 Dear Mom,

You're my mom and I love you so much. True. You're my mom and I know you loved me so much. True. But it's the every day "you" stuff that I miss so dang badly. The way when you called or I called you, your opening liner was generally the same, "What do you know?" It always had a sing-songy cadence to it. I wish I appreciated the way you gave a play by play of your day to me. God, you always accomplished so much! Sometimes it was annoying to hear who you helped or how you helped because honestly, it made me reflect on myself and whether I was using my God given gifts to serve like you were. A lot of days I needed your help carting four kids around or cheering from the sidelines. Anything I needed to do, you were always willing. Urgent care? You would take me. Target? You'd go for me. A museum iwth the kids? Why not? You were always ready for anything!

If myself or the kids needed anything at all, most times you had it. If you didn't have it, you went out and found it. You loved a good challenge! How many whirly-pop things did you actually find for people at the thrift stores? You were so damn generous! You were such a thoughtful, quality human being that it physically hurts that you are not still here. We never recorded your answers to that book you went through with Grandma and Grandpa and transcribed. I know the ins and outs of their lives, but never took enough time to lean in, listen, and learn about yours. That hurts my heart. I don't know how to parent adult children yet. I still need you, yet you're gone. In an instant, you were gone from this life and living in eternal life. 

To add to the pain, John Michael isn't here to make inappropriate jokes and make me laugh through my tears or recall memories of our childhood together. Everything in my world got so much harder October.  1st and even harder on October 25th. To be honest, I can't even ask God, why? Because all I hear in my head from Maria's podcast is your voice saying, "Why not me?" I know better than to question God's plan. I do. I know for certain, one day we will be together again. I do. But today? Today I miss seeing your white Prius pull up at the curb, calling me to run out for some random drop off you were bringing me. Today without you, sick at home, I miss your homemade soups. I don't think you ever made a single one that I didn't like and I haven't found a single recipe for one. 

Today and every day since you've been gone, I miss you. 

Love you forever; Miss you for always.