"The best Christmas ever"

Christmas is just a week away.  Time to finish up all the shopping, wrap all the gifts, plan the meal that I will cook for my family.

I can't help but think of my mom and the traditions we had.

I remember all the Christmases as a child.  We loved to go driving around together as a family, looking at Christmas lights. I remember my mom cussing while putting up the Christmas tree, the one we had was such a pain and she'd get frustrated, but once she got it up, we'd enjoy decorating it.

We had Christmas Eve dinner at Maw Maw's house.  Oh the food was amazing, so much better than what I cook now.  Maybe it's because I didn't have to cook it.  Laura and I would finish before everyone else, and head to the tree to start sorting presents.  We would sort them out and stack them for each person, and then wait impatiently to open them.

We never really believed in Santa, so a lot of times we'd convince Mom that we should open our gifts at home on Christmas Eve too.  Looking back, I wonder how mom and Maw Maw managed to give so much.  I think of what they must have sacrificed in order to give us such a good Christmas.

When I got married, we changed the traditions a little.  We spend Christmas Eve with Jimmy's family.  After we finish there, we head home so we can all open our new pajamas.  The boys head to bed, and it's time for me and Jimmy to play Santa.  My mom didn't think kids should believe in Santa, but I like the magic of Santa and the idea of believing in something you can't see.  It is important to me, and so we stay up late, putting together gifts and eating cookies.

The boys get up early.  I mean EARLY.  Last year I think it was around 4:00.  We get up, see the Santa gifts and open stockings.  Then I get breakfast ready while we wait for my mom and sister to come over.  They come over in their pj's.  We open all of our gifts to each other, and then we have breakfast.

This will be the hard part this year.  The part that will hurt, the part I cry about when I think of it.  Last year, mom seemed more tired than usual.  Makes sense now, the cancer was already doing it's damage, although we didn't know it yet.

Laura and mom leave after breakfast,  Mom has to work on the ham, I have to start cooking.  We have dinner around 5:00, and the rest of the family comes over.  After we eat, open gifts and play for awhile, I say the phrase I have said for years and years.  In fact, last year I almost forgot and mom said, "Aren't you going to say it?"

"This was the best Christmas ever".

And that will be the last time I say it.  Not that we won't have a wonderful Christmas.  Not that I won't enjoy seeing my family and giving them gifts and showing our love for each other.  But it can never be the best Christmas ever.  Not anymore.

I ask that you say a prayer for my family.  For all the families I know that have had a loss this year.  Who are celebrating Christmas without a parent or a child or a friend.  I hope you all have a blessed holiday. Merry Christmas!

Not my proudest moment...

Today did not start out well.

Well, it was good when the kids were still asleep.  I got up, had my coffee, made it to the gym.  Feeling good.

I get home and Drew is a nightmare.  Just in a horrible mood.  Crying over everything. Screaming at his brothers.  Making everything so much more difficult.  When he is like this, the older boys get on my nerves more.  The normal noise that they make is amplified by 1000.  I asked them several times to be quiet.  I asked Chris to stop picking on Luke.  I asked Luke to stop blowing on the horn.  (a funnel that Drew got from somewhere and they have used it as a "horn" ever since).

And still, we get in the car, and Drew is crying.  And Chris is being obnoxious.  And Luke is making noise with that damn funnel.  And then Drew starts yelling at them to be quiet and the car is filled with so much noise that I'm sure it registered on the Richter scale.

So this is the part of the store where I wish I could tell you that I calmly stopped the car (in the driveway, we hadn't even made it to the street yet), and gently but firmly asked them all to refrain from waking the freaking dead with their ridiculous noise.  And that they promptly and politely complied.


....


That is not what happened, I'm afraid.  Something inside of me snapped.  And I yelled, at the top of my lungs, "STTTTOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP IIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!  STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!".  For a solid 20 seconds I yelled at the top of my lungs.  The older boys laughed at first and then just stared in amazement.  And Drew immediately burst into tears.  Terrified, horrified, I'm three years old and my mom has lost her marbles tears.

And so, I stopped the car.  And I got out, and I walked back to Drew, and I hugged him.  And I apologized and explained that he felt bad because I yelled, just like I feel bad when he yells.  I wiped his tears away.  Told the older boys I was sorry.  Told them all I loved them.  (Drew refused to say it back).  Got in the car and had a quiet ride to school.

All is well, Drew has forgiven me and loves me again.  The older boys are fine as usual.  I feel a little guilty, I normally don't lose it like that.  But I know it happens to all of us.  When we reach that point, and the stress is so high and the noise gets louder and no one is listening.  And we explode.  I don't like that I behaved that way, but at least my children know that I am human and make mistakes just like them.  At least they know that it's what you do AFTER you make a mistake that matters.  And how you learn from it.  And next time, I will just stop the car, get out, and scream into my jacket.

Blessings

It's Thanksgiving today.  As I sit here, watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse with Drew (hot dog hot dog hot diggity dog!), I can't help but think of all the blessings that I have in my life.

We received an incredible extra blessing yesterday.  After 2 years of my husband working for me as a server, he has finally gotten a job.  A good job.  A job with lots of growth potential.  It is a huge relief for us.

When he called me at work to give me the news, I immediately started crying.  I was squatting down on the floor, phone in hand, crying in the middle of the restaurant.  Thank you Lord for this.  Thank you for giving us good news at the end of a horrible, terrible year!

I went into the office to cry alone for a few minutes (I have done that A LOT this year).  And I picked up the phone to share the news- the first number I called was my mom's.  Shit.  How I wish I could hear her voice when I told her.  How I wish I could have talked to her about it.

So I called my sister and told her.  And she cried.  It's been a long road for us and everyone knows it.

Tonight, when I pray before I go to sleep, I will say an extra prayer of thanks for all the things God has blessed us with.  This year has been hard, the hardest of my life.  But I have so many people in my life that love me.  I wouldn't have survived without them.  My husband, my sister, my best friends.  My family that offered help and support during so many hard times.

I will thank God for my dad that actually wants to see the boys and goes out of his way to spend time with them.  

I will thank God for my sweet nephew Emmett.  I love him so much and am so happy that he is here, not only for the relationship I have with him but for making my relationship with my brother stronger.

 I will thank God for my Blue Plate family, and the job I have that has supported my family while Jimmy went back to school and looked for job.  For a job that allowed me to care for my mother during her final weeks.

I will thank God for 32 years with my mother.  For all the memories I have of her.  For letting me still hear her voice if I close my eyes and concentrate.  For all the things she taught me, for all the ways she made me stronger.

Happy Thanksgiving, I hope everyone has as many things to be thankful for.

My unhealthy relationship

I'm not talking about a relationship with a person.  I'm talking about my relationship with food.

I'm not sure how I developed this relationship.  Maybe it comes from being southern.  We have a tendency to throw food at any problem, event, celebration, etc.  And it's always good (bad?) food.  

For example, when my mother was ill and we were caring for her, we had more food, pies, cakes than we could handle.  (I've never seen so much potato salad in my life).  I gained twenty pounds in those months.

Even when we were responsible for our on meals, we chose badly.  We needed comfort.  We needed fried and crunchy and cheesy and sweet.  We need chips and candy and snacks.  We "deserved" it.  Our mom was dying.

But why do we think that good makes us feel better?  Why do we turn to food for comfort?  Or reward?  Or celebration?

Does food make you feel better in the long run, or is it a temporary feeling?  Would a new pair of shoes satisfy you longer than an expensive, unhealthy dinner out?  Probably.  But we still reach for food in these circumstances.

I am currently trying to undo the damage of those few months.  Prior to her diagnosis, I had lost weight, built muscle and felt so much better.  It took me a long time to get back in the habit of going to the gym. But now I go daily with little trouble.

Food I still struggle with.  I am trying hard to retrain myself.  To look at food as fuel for my body.  To have a better balanced diet, where I am able to have an occasional treat without either extreme guilt or without a full on binge.

Wish me luck!

6 months

Every month, when the 7th rolls around, I get a little extra sad about my mom.  Today marks six months since she passed.  Six months since I saw her take her last breaths.  Six months since we sat on the back porch while they took her body away, then went back into a house that was eerily quiet without the sounds of her oxygen machine and her tv.  Six months.

It sounds like a long time.  But it feels like it was just yesterday.

I am lonely without her.  I have lots of friends.  I have my family.  But no one can fill the void that she has left.  She was the only person I actually talked to on the phone on a regular basis.  We talked almost everyday.  She used to annoy the hell out of me when she would call me, then have me wait while she finished a conversation with someone she was with, or a bank teller, or order in a drive thru.  I'd wonder why she didn't just wait to finish and THEN call me.  And of course I'd wait on hold forever if it meant I got to talk to her just one more time.

Today I sat in my car and listened to some of her favorite songs.  The Judds.  Eric Clapton.  I closed my eyes a conjured up the sound of her voice.  I thought about how much she would be hurting to know how much I am hurting.  How she always wanted to take my pain away.

I found this old photo of the two of us.  She was beautiful.  Even Drew thought so.  He asked who it was and I said, "Me and Gammy".  He said, "My Gammy???  She looks so pretty!"  Of course, he followed up with, "And you look pretty too... 'cept, I didn't know you was a boy baby"  Oh what I would give to tell my mom that story.  She would have laughed so hard, she loved that boy.  (all of them of course)

I love you mom.  I miss you everyday.  One day I will see you again.  I hope you are watching over us and seeing your boys grow, and you know all the stories that I can't tell you.

A little parenting honesty...

I have three children.  They are all boys.  They are 10, 7 and 3.  (screw the oxford comma).  When we go out in public, I inevitably hear, "Bless your heart"  or " Momma's got her hands full today", "Phew, I bet they keep you busy!!!"

It is all very true.  They are exhausting.  I am tired.  Always. tired.  I am always rushing to get to one sporting event or another.  Sometimes we eat in the car.  Drew always has to snack in the car.  (the good news is, if we get stranded for a long period of time, we could survive for DAYS on the goldfish he has dropped in the floorboard).

I love them.  So much.  Yet sometimes I dream of dropping them off at school and driving straight to beach and starting a new life as a beach bartender.  I could be tan and blond and carefree, making margaritas and daiquiris all day long.

But then reality sets in and I remember that Jimmy wouldn't be able to survive without me and they would all be sitting around in filth wondering where their underwear and socks are and when someone is going to start cooking dinner.

So, I continue on.  Refereeing  the fights.  The, "he won't stop looking at me".  The, "he got more pizza than me.".  The crying.  hitting.  punching.  The messes, the spills, the stickiness.  The fact that the bathroom ALWAYS smells, no matter how often I clean it.  The underwear in the kitchen, the socks under the couch (that's where they are!).  The fact that I have to inspect them to make sure they shower and brush their teeth.

I can't type anymore, everyone is being very quiet and that's worse than the screaming.  Much, much worse.

My staycation

I get three weeks off for vacation a year.  I typically use one to take a family vacation.  The other two I use to get projects done around the house that I never have time for.  You know, like matching and folding socks.

Last week I took one of those weeks.  I had some ideas, and I did get some things on my list done.  I refinished a piece of furniture.  I cleaned the microwave (Seriously, that was on my list.  I'm busy, don't judge!).  I spruced up the boys bathroom a little.  Did the laundry.  Took care of my now 3-legged dog. ( He is doing better, getting around without assistance, but still not eating)

I call him hop-a-long

But other than that?  I didn't do anything.  I went to the gym everyday.  I took a few naps. I cooked healthy breakfasts and lunches for myself.  It was delicious. I cleaned a little, but didn't kill myself doing it.

On Saturday, I ran/walked in a 5k supporting breast cancer.  My mother's coworkers formed a team to honor her, and me, my sister, Chris and Luke joined.  Luke had a fever the night before, so he was out.

My sister met with the team at their office for pictures, but I'm a freak about getting places on time and I just didn't want to rush and fight traffic, so we skipped.  The plan was to wait at the back of the start line (with the walkers and strollers!), until my sister got there and then walk the 3 miles.  Well, my sister ended up not participating due to an ankle issue, so that just left me and Chris.

Chris is used to winning.  So when we starting walking, he didn't like that we were in the very back. Even though he had a soccer game later, he decided we should run.  Sigh.  I hate running.  I really do.  I worked out at the gym for at least 1 1/2 hours everyday last week, no problem.  I lifted weights, I did intense intervals on the elliptical.  But I hate running.  It hurts my knees.  6 minutes in, and I am thinking, "I am going to die.  I've been running for hours."   In every other form of exercise, I push myself.  I make myself keep going, even when it hurts.  I do 2 more reps when I don't think I can.  5 more minutes on the elliptical.  A few more squats.  Whatever.  But not running.  (In my opinion, runner's high is the feeling you get when you finally get to stop running!)

So when Chris suggested running, I'll admit, I died inside a little.  I hated being in the back too, but not more than I hate running.  So, we started jogging.  He had no problem weaving in and out of the crowd.  I kept losing him, he'd stop and wait until I caught up.  Finally, I just told him to go ahead, and that my sister would wait for him at  the finish.  So then I was alone.  I could have walked the entire time.  But, I didn't want to get nothing out of it, so I decided to do what I could.

Because we thought we were walking, we had both worn sweaters.  Which were both tied around my waist. Chris's kept falling off as I ran.  I looked like such a jackass, picking the damn thing up and re-tying it 100 times.  Finally around the halfway mark I had MacGyver'd it to my sweater so that it would stay put.  So I ran til I thought I would die, and then I walked.  I repeated that until the end.  When I walked, I kept my pace brisk.  I figured if I got a good calorie burn, I'd at least get to skip the gym later.

My finish time was terrible of course, but each mile was faster than the last.  So I'm happy about that.  The first was 18 minutes, but we walked more and had the burden of weaving in and out of 1000's of people and that damn sweater.  Chris only finished 10 minutes faster than me, and he's a champion swimmer.  He hates running too :)

My legs hurt for the rest of the day.  So sad.

I will say this, I definitely got the racing bug.  When's the next 5k? half marathon?

Yeah, I'm screwing with you.  I'll do the ribbon run again next year, but that's about it.  But if you wanna climb on the elliptical next to mine tomorrow morning, it's on!

(Btw, Did you know that the dude that won the race finished in 15 minutes?   Is he freaking Flash or something?  He ran the entire thing faster than I walked/ran the first mile.  That blows my mind)

It's been awhile

I haven't posted in awhile.  I'm sure you are dying of curiosity about my life and what is going on.

Thankfully, there isn't much to tell.  This year has been total shit.  Let's be honest.  I can say it has been the worst year of my life.  The theme of the year?  CANCER.  My mother.  My father-in-law (and the resulting surgery that removed the cancer but almost killed him).  A couple of my friends' parents as well.  And finally... my dog.

Seriously?  Even my freaking dog?  And not the stupid dog that I can't stand, that eats food out of drew's hands and barks when the wind blows.  But my favorite dog.  My sweet, sweet Reese, who laid-back, calm and everyone's favorite.  He has a giant tumor on his foot.  A tumor that probably could have been removed if I had taken care of it when it first appeared, but I was in the middle of my mother's cancer and just didn't have time for him.  The result?  Next Tuesday, my baby will have his leg AMPUTATED!  I feel a huge amount of guilt for not handling this sooner.  I just honestly forgot about it when I found out about my mom, and then she deteriorated so quickly and demanded all my attention.

Seriously?  Look at this face!

I survived my first birthday without my mom.  It's hard to think of all the "firsts" without her that are coming up.  Halloween.  Thanksgiving.  Christmas.  That one will be the hardest.  The boys' birthdays.  I miss her so much.  I think about her so often.  I don't cry everyday anymore.  But it still hits me out of the blue sometimes.  And sometimes I have the selfish thought that I wish I could go back to the months when she was dying, because at least she was here with me.  What a horrible thing to even think, but at times I am desperate for her.  I am worrying that I will forget her voice.  I can still hear the way she said her name on her voicemail.  I close my eyes sometimes and just hold on to that, hoping I will always be able to recall it.

My grandmother died 8 years ago this August.  She hadn't felt good or been herself in a long time. Her death, like my mother's, was an end to her suffering.  I loved her so much, but I was so happy for her to not be in pain anymore.  I didn't understand why my mom couldn't see that, why she regretting the decision that she had to make to not leave her on life support.  And now I know.  I know that she was just desperately missing her mother and wishing she could have her back.

My mom's coworker's put together a team to walk/run the Liz Hurley Ribbon Run in my mother's honor.  I am very touched but nervous about doing it.  I feel robbed and not sure if I am ready to be surrounded by all of the breast cancer pink everywhere.  Chris and Luke are doing it with me, so we will be walking, and hopefully not sobbing the entire time.

I don't make my bed...

 There are lots of things that I gave up on.  Some I haven't done in years.  Some I have given up recently.  Maybe I'm not as organized as other moms.  Maybe I just don't care enough.  Either way, these are the things I just don't do anymore:


1.  Make my bed.  Nope, not doing it.  Besides the fact that Jimmy and I rarely get up at the same time, I just don't see the point.  No one goes in my room but us.  We are just going to mess it up later.  And I have to remind my kids to brush their teeth 45 times every morning, and then smell their breath to make sure they did.  So, yeah, I have other priorities before work.

2.  Match and fold socks.  There are 5 of us.  We have work socks and short socks and long socks and soccer socks and baseball socks.  And they are all in a basket in the laundry room.  It's every man for himself in the sock department.  Sometimes I feel fancy and sort everyone's socks into their own baskets.  Like when I am on vacation or on long weekends.

3. Sort laundry before I wash it.  Nope.  I throw all that crap in one load and pray for the best.

4.  Bath my kid every night.  Yeah, mother of the year.  Drew doesn't get a bath every night.  Half the time we aren't even home.  So, he's lucky to get one every other day.  Don't judge me.

5.  Read a story before bed.  I felt guilty for this one for a long time.  You see tv shows and movies and bedtime is a beautiful bonding time with your children.  At my house, bedtime is a battle of wills.  It is an hour long production to get Drew to bed.  Bedtime story?  I think not. I throw his mean butt into bed and run away before he even knows what hit him. (we read at other times during the day, don't hate!)

I'm sure there are so many things that I am supposed to do that I don't.  Or things I shouldn't do that I do.  Let my kids eat off the floor.  Let my kids pee in a cup in my car when I can't find a toilet. (penises are so convenient!).  Make the car "dance" to the music on our street when a good song comes on.

Oh well, the kids are all alive, the house is fairly clean, and  I somewhat keep my sanity.

A date with Luke

I have three boys.  I love each one of them so very much.

There are three of them.  There is one of me.  Sometimes, (all the time???) I find it hard to divide my time equally between them.  And my poor, sweet Luke is usually the one to suffer.  His older and younger brothers demand attention.  Chris has been more difficult than usual lately ( that's the polite way of saying he has been driving me bat-shit crazy).  And Drew is... Drew.  My whirlwind of energy and emotion, and when he is in the room, all my attention is forced in his direction.  Just the way he likes it.

Luke has been a little down lately.  Crying at the drop of the hat.  Just grumpy and not himself.  He is reading this book and I was asking him about it, and one of the characters is a middle child.  Luke said that the book was really like real life, and when I asked him what he meant, he didn't want to tell me.  I finally got it out of him that, just like in real life, the middle child always gets ignored.

So, time for a mommy/son date.  We made the journey across town to go to Lunar Golf in Madison Square Mall (have you been there lately?  yeah, neither has anyone else).  We played a couple rounds of that, sat in one of the massage chairs, and walked around the mall talking.

Then we were hungry, so I told Luke he could choose anywhere he wanted to eat.  The sky's the limit, I said.  Anything goes.  He chose Subway.  Haha, that shows the kind of kid he is.  Simple.  Easy to please.  We ate our subs, then headed to Barnes and Noble for some new books

I had a great time.  Sometimes I forget how funny he is.  Or how much he talks when he isn't around his brothers.  I found myself just staring at him, enjoying his laughter.  How happy his big blue eyes looked.  How young he really is.  He has always been so mature for his age, and we have always treated him like he is Chris's age.  Sometimes we have to take a step back and remember that he is only 7, and he needs a little extra time from me.

Sunday night dinners...

One of my favorite things is a house full of family.  I complain sometimes, about the work to clean up, and cook and then clean up again, but I'm just all talk.  I love to have the people in my life over, talking, eating and just enjoying each other.

This is the first dinner I have hosted since my mother died. It's odd to see how everything just goes on without her.  How everyone comes over and it's just the same as it always has been.  Only nothing is the same.

There are some additions to our group now.  My brother has a newborn baby.  A sweet smelling little guy that falls asleep every time I touch him.  My sister's boyfriend came along, with his 6 year old daughter.  She jumped right in and had no problems running around and sword fighting with a bunch of rowdy boys.

We had a great time.  But I saw her ghost in ever corner.  On the couch, in the spot she sat in on her last ever Sunday dinner.  At the kitchen table, eating her tacos all crunched up and with a fork. Leaning against the kitchen counter and chatting with me while I cooked.  Playing with the boys.

I wonder if anyone besides me and my sister thought about her tonight.  Thought about how she should have been laughing at the extreme amount of noise that the 4 big kids were making.  Thought about how she should have been fighting for a turn to hold the baby.  Thought about the fact that a very important part of our family is gone.

It's hard to feel like she is starting to be forgotten.  I feel like the world should still be mourning.  That we shouldn't be able to have a good time without her.  That we should be miserable and sad.  Which is ridiculous.  We have to move on.  We have to enjoy the good things that are happening in our lives.  New family.  New babies.  Making sure that we continue to get together as a family.  Watching kids grow.  Watching each other grow.  And learning to get by without her, one Sunday dinner at a time.

Three months

My mom has been gone for three months.  Three months without her and I find myself crying less.  I think about her everyday, but I don't cry everyday anymore.

But today is three months.  And Drew plays this game where he pretends to be different family members, "I mommy"  "I daddy".  Today it was "I Gammy".  So the day started and she was heavy on my mind.  But I was still ok.

And then a friend/coworker came in to eat with her family.  Her sweet baby boy and her mother were there.  And I looked over, saw that woman snuggling her sweet baby grandson and I lost it.  Lost it because I will never see my mom snuggle her sweet baby grandsons again.  It just hit me suddenly.  I spent the next hour or so crying in the bathroom or trying not to cry in the dining room.

Several friends have told me to cry when I need to.  I try so hard to stop it, because it feels like I have to or it will become this uncontrollable thing that never ends.  One friend told me that her father was 80 years old and still cried tears for his mother, who died when he was very young.  I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse, but I guess it means I'm somewhat normal.

I can't describe what this loss feels like.  Before this happened, I certainly didn't understand it.  Those who have been through something like this get it.  They know that feeling in the pit of the stomach, the way it felt when I looked at that grandmother and grandson and it just took my breath away.  Like someone just punched me, as hard as they could, right in the gut.  They understand an emotional pain causing a physical response.  They understand that you can feel your heart actually break.

They also understand when I say I miss her so badly that I would even go back to the two months after her diagnosis just to get to see her and talk to her again.  Which is incredibly selfish because those were the worst two months of her life.  But I am desperate for her.  I am like a starving person, picking up little crumbs of her wherever I can.  I reread texts, facebook messages.  I look at her facebook profile and her pictures.

So, it's been three months.  And as my sister said, it seems like an eternity ago and yesterday all at the same time.

Today it happened...

I finally had a happy memory of mom pop up in my head.  For the past few months, the only things in my mind have been her last few months.  I would try and try to dig into my memory to find a happy memory and I came up blank.  Like my previous 31 years and 8 months with her didn't exist.  As if the my entire relationship with my mother was from the moment she said, "I have cancer" to the moment she died.

But today, I was driving towards downtown.  And it always makes me sad to drive there, because she worked there, and sometimes I would see her walking around the square when I would drive past.  She worked at Martinson and Beason as a runner. It was a job she loved and hated all at the same time.  She worked there for a long time, and many of the people she worked with were like family to her.

Today, I suddenly remembered the day she got the job.  It was a very long time ago.  She had been trying to find the right job for a long time.  She had tried working 3rd shift for awhile, so that she could keep Chris for us while I worked.  She had tried other jobs too, but nothing was a good fit.  She was excited about this interview, and nervous.  I knew she had no reason to be nervous, because a "runner" position at a law firm would be very easy for her.  She was smarter than that job, and I thought deserved more than that job, but it was what she wanted.

The day she got the job, I was working at Rolo's.  She came in to see me and was just so excited.  I can see her face and how proud she was.

So very blessed to have this memory today.  And hopeful that more happy thoughts will slip through, and that when I close my eyes to go to sleep tonight, I will see her proud, smiling face instead of her last gasps for breath.

girlfriends

I once was the girl who always had guy best friend.  I had friends that were girls, but my best friends were always dudes.  I thought I preferred it that way.   I thought guys were easier.  I thought they were more trustworthy, more dependable and less likely to betray.

Many, many years ago, I met a group of girls at the restaurant we all worked at.   I quickly found out what I had been missing.

For 13 years, we have been through everything.  Love, death, tragedy, breakups, school, new jobs, babies.  Everything that could happen, has happened to one of us.  And no matter what, we are always there.

During one particularly rough patch in my life, I hadn't spoken to one friend in months.  But when I showed up in tears, she had a shoulder for me, no questions asked.  Another friend appeared on my doorstep shortly after, putting her life on hold to be there.

When my mother died, I never felt so much support.   From these original ladies and a few others.   I don't think I would have survived without them.

I think all women need friends like these.  A husband and family just aren't enough.   You need that escape, that time to be with women who truly understand you like no one else.  Who have seen you disgustingly drunk, with vomit in your hair, and do nothing but help you get your shit together.  Who will rent a u haul and be there to move you across state when needed.  Who will give you advice, but still love you when you don't follow it.

I am truly blessed to have these beautiful, strong,  wonderfully supportive women in my life.  They lift me up when I am falling
They bring wine when life is hard or when we need to celebrate.  They bring food when crisis hits my family.   They cry with me, laugh with me, and sometimes get fall down drunk with me.  They plant gardens and go with me to spread my mother's ashes.  They are always behind me, beside me, and in my heart.

I'm not even sure they know how much they mean to me, all the time, but especially in the past months.  In my world, these bitches are my sisters and I couldn't do it without them.

Parmesan Pasta

It's a flavor of that boxed pasta roni stuff.  It's total crap for you- filled with fat and calories and a lot of stuff that isn't real food. (Don't read anything about the things that are in processed food...trust me, ignorance is bliss).  Quite frankly, it's delicious, and we eat it occasionally at my house.  It's convenient and quick and I like that.  We are about to have it for lunch with some baked chicken.

I never even knew it existed until I started dating Jimmy (I use the term "dating" loosely.  If you know our story, you know what I mean).  I remember one night, one very late night I'm sure, we were at his dad's house, hungry and he said he'd cook us some parmesan pasta.  I even remember him telling me how to wiggle the fork to stir the noodles so that they wouldn't stick together.  I sat on the counter while he stirred these noodles, having no clue that in 11 years from then, I would be cooking it for his children.

Since that night, he has cooked me countless meals.  Meals that were amazing and romantic like a surprise steak dinner, or meals that I loved because it meant I didn't have to cook and he was helping lessen my load.  Meals that didn't work out so well at times, like burgers that weren't cooked enough.  Eleven years of us each cooking meals for each other.  Eleven years of fights, and stress, and crisis after crisis, right alongside love, and joy and friendship.

I teared up a little while I was making the pasta today, thinking of  memory that had long been forgotten.  I will enjoy many more meals with my husband, but that one, innocent meal will stick with me forever.

I didn't cry

Last week was the first time I made it through the entire week without crying over you.  It has been a little more than two months since you passed and I have cried every other day.  But last week, I made it through.

 I had a few close calls.  Like when I was talking to the kids about cooking dinner and inviting everyone over, and Chris said, "Like Papa, and Laura, and Gammy?".  But he immediately got upset and worried that he had upset me, so I held back the tears.

And I thought of you during city meet, and how proud you would have been of the boys.  But I didn't cry at the swim meet.

I had a dream about you, not anything extraordinary, just about an regular day, when you were still here.  But I woke up, and took a few deeps breaths and went about my day.

I can't say it is getting any easier, because when I think about you and remember, it literally takes my breath away for a minute and my chest hurts.  It is an actual physical pain that I feel when I miss you.  It feels like my heart is breaking.  So, it isn't getting easier, I'm just getting better at holding the tears back.

This week Laura and I will be spreading your ashes.  I can't say that I will have a tear free week.  I imagine it will be difficult, the last goodbye.  But I know that you aren't a box of ashes.  I know that you aren't that body I said goodbye to in the casket.  I know you aren't even that woman, lying in bed for weeks, in pain and suffering and miserable.  I know who you are.  I know where you are.  I just wish it was still here with me.

Starting over....again.

Hmmmm... sounds familiar.

Towards the end of last year, I got my butt in gear and lost 30 lbs.  I still had some to lose, but I was feeling good.  I was working out, eating right- life was good.  I was going to the gym regularly.  Lifting weights- which was a first for me.

And then... mom gets cancer.  Insert emotional eating here.  Sad that mom has cancer?- hash browns covered in cheese will help.  Worried about the results of the next test she's having?  That calls for peach cobbler.  I have the unique temptation of working in a southern cooking restaurant.  Fried catfish.  Cheeseburgers.  Fries.  Omelets. Desserts.  MACARONI AND CHEESE!

Sigh.  And then I was out of work for 2.5 weeks, but that didn't make things any better.  Then my diet consisted of Sonic.  And Hardee's.  And Mexican food, BBQ, various things that people would bring by.  Rum cake. Ice cream.  (are you hungry yet?)

Anyway.  I gained a lot of weight back.  So... I am participating in Skinny Meg's 12 week challenge.  It's basically just a fantastic group of chicks supporting each other, with challenges to motivate us along the way. She is a saint to put up with all of us and our questions and one of my favorite bloggers.

So- wish me luck!  I'm trying to eat more meals like this:

Chicken sausage and peppers

And less of the things that make me feel better temporary.   I have to stop eating my feelings.  And my stress.

This is me...

So far so good.  I'm waiting for p90x3 to come in, because the regular p90x is just too long and I don't always have for it.  I'm determined to get this weight back off and more.  I figure if I tell the 10 people who read this, then I'll be more likely to do it. Maybe???

I took some before pictures...but I'm not sure the world is ready for that.

a typical day...

4:30 a.m- the dogs wake up and start walking around the bedroom.  The click-clack of their nails on the floor fills me with pure rage .  I love my dogs but at this moment, I would give them away to anyone who asked.  I can't let them out yet, because their stampeding down the hallways will wake Drew.  And my number one goal is to never wake the beast, so I tell the dogs to sit down and put my pillow over my head.

5:30-  Drew crawls into bed.  I try to pretend he isn't there.  And then he whispers, loudly, "I 'miling at you mommy".  And I love his smile so I roll over and give him a hug, and we are up for the day.

5:45-  I make Drew oatmeal, he's too hungry to wait for the bacon and biscuits I'm making.  "Me no like oatmeal".  We fight for 15 minutes.  He finally eats the oatmeal, like he does every morning.

6:00- wake chris and luke.  They swim year round and for summer league so that means two practices.   Tell them to eat and get ready, and head to get myself ready. I spend 20 minutes making myself decently  presentable to the outside world

Shower,  brush teeth, scrunch spray in my hair, mascara.  Get my work clothes out of the dryer (wrinkle setting, this momma don't iron) and I'm ready.

6:30- "Boys, brush your teeth".  I say this 45 times.  Chris will get distracted by the TV.  Luke will lie and say he did when he didn't

Drew will just scream and generally act like an ass.  Pick out clothes for drew and get anything else he needs for school that day. 

Wake jimmy up, he gets to dress the terrorist and take him.

6:40- "we need to go, let's go!".  Someone says, "I still need to brush my teeth!"

 Grrrrrr.

6:45- We leave. 9 times out of 10, someone has forgotten something.  Too late now!

7:00- drop the boys off.  Sit in the parking lot for 10 minutes, trying to soak up some peace before work.

7:30-3:30-  work.  Deal with my other "children" all day long.   "Can I eat?","Can I go home early", "Will you take my ones?", "I need this day off", "I see you are eating, on your way to the bathroom, talking to someone, on the phone,  etc, but I need you now!"  Love them all, but it's just like being at home.  Chat with them, have fun between the chaos, talk to customers,  listen to complaints.   Deal with broken equipment, scheduling mistakes, incorrect food orders.  It is always something.

And then they steal my phone. ..

3:30- bank for work, possibly the store for a few things we need.  Pick up the big boys from one place,  head to day care for the drewfus.

4:30- home.  So tired already.   Make an afternoon cup of coffee.  Pick up around the house.  Wash a load of laundry.  Follow everyone around turning off lights, ha. 

5:30- figure out something for dinner.  Chris eats his first plate and immediately says, "can I have more of everything?".  I swear he never stops eating. 

              

6:30- either showers and downtime of TV or we have stroke and turn practice,  so we head to the pool.

Drew likes practice, he gets a lot of attention.

8:00-  bedtime for the children.  I'm usually dead on my feet by now, so jimmy and I hang out on the couch til I go to bed.  Which is usually not later than 9:00.  I'm so lame.

This is a calm day.  Some days work is crazy and I'm trying to do a food order, count down cash registers and give two job interviews all at the same time.  And during school, the nights are crazy with baseball,  or basketball for Luke on top of the swimming.

I love this life.  I am exhausted constantly.  I don't have lot of time for my friends, which I hate.  But what I didn't tell you about throughout my day is what really matters.  The sweet moments with my kids.  Watching them grow up to be strong,  smart, healthy and talented young men. Watching jimmy be an amazing father to them.  Knowing that in ten years, it will AL change and I'll miss Drews' s early morning smile.  (I will NEVER miss the DAMN dogs in the morning!!)

And a few swim meet shots of the older boys, so I don't leave them out!!

What makes me miss you...

I miss you in the morning when I first wake up .  When I'm fresh from sleep, and it takes a few minutes and I remember that you're gone.

I miss you when I'm driving to work, because I would call you, when the kids weren't in the car and I could actually talk for a minute.

I miss you when a random person calls work, asking us to sponsor their breast cancer program,  and he asks if I've known anyone who has battled the terrible disease.

I miss you when a daycare teacher upsets me, and I don't know if I'm overreacting.   You'd be the first person to tell me what to do.

I miss you when I see your mother's ring on my finger.  I've always been told we look like and I never really see it.  But when I look at my hands, I see your hands.

I miss you when I think of my brother's baby being born.   Or when I think of my sister going back to school, or getting married.  Or anything else you should be here for.

I miss you when I take a video of drew being cute, cause I know you would love it, and share it on Facebook.

I miss you at the swim meets.  You loved to watch your boys swim, and I cry every week when you aren't there with me.

I miss you everyday.  I miss you all the time. I never knew how much I needed you.   I never appreciated you the way I should have.

Cleaning out...

I have opened this blank page to write a post at least 15 times.  And I don't know what to say.  I'm tired of being the "depressed, my mom is dead so I'm crying in the bathroom" chick.  But I have nothing else to talk about.  It's my life right now.

My sister and I went to mom's this weekend to start the process of cleaning out here things.  It's been a month.  It wasn't easy.  On the way there, the fields on either side of the road were brown and wilted looking.  It made me think of when I brought her home from the hospital.  When she went to the hospital, it was still cold and everything was dead.  On the day she went home, it was warmer and the fields were bright green.  She kept talking about how bright and pretty everything was.  I cried until I got to her house.  Pulled myself together and went inside.

Thank God for my sister.  When we are together, we are able to find humor in tough situations.  Jokes and sarcasm pulled us through it.  That and a few awkward photos.  It felt wrong.  Wrong to be going through her things.  Wrong to be sorting through 49 years of memories and deciding what we should keep and what should go.  Wrong to read her cards and letters.  Wrong that all of her years of loving amounted to nothing more than a pile of papers in a Rubbermaid box.

I found the poem she wrote me when I was so angry at her for being upset when I wanted to move out.  It was about how hard it was for her to let me go, even though she knew it was time.  The words have a double meaning now.

I found that she kept every award I'd probably ever won.  All my report cards.  Hundreds of pictures.  All the poems I wrote when I dreamed of growing up and becoming a writer.  The "book" I wrote about a lost kitten.  The auto-biography I had to do in middle school (Ms. Walls' class... some of you probably remember).  So many things.

I found the mother's day ring she wore, the necklace I bought her with the boys' birthstones on it.  The red blouse she wore every Christmas.

So many things.  Things and memories are all I have left of the woman who made me who I am today.

And the memories are hard to get to.  I find I can only think about the last few months of her life.  I try to think of her and I see her in the chemo chair.  Losing her hair.  With the oxygen tubes in her nose.  Talking to people who aren't there.  Getting confused about her medicine.  Sleeping. Crying. Frustrated.    And her final, struggling breaths right before she died.  That is what haunts me.  That is what I see when I close my eyes at night, when I wake in the morning.  I am so, so thankful that I am the only one who saw it.  So glad that it happened too quickly to wake Laura up.  Because I can't get it out of my head, I can't find room for the good memories.  I can't see past it.

Random things

Here are all my current thoughts, dumped in one central location.

Picked up mom's death certificates.  Also called her phone to hear her voice on her voicemail message.  Did all of this right before work, which resulted in hiding in the bathroom and crying repeatedly.  Note to self- save this kind of behavior for a non-work day.

Also... I can never, ever listen to this. Never again.

I tried to call her yesterday to tell her something.  Literally dialed 9 of the 10 numbers before I realized what I was doing.

Last week was a long week.  An emergency room visit with my uncle.  An emergency room visit with my husband.  Then my husband being sick all week, I worked basically Wed-Sat nights, and then we had a big cleaning day at work so I was there for most of Sunday.  I barely saw the kids, barely saw the husband. Didn't get anything done around the house, didn't get the grocery shopping done or my workouts done over the weekend.  It was a total disaster.

I'm ready for a new week.  Ready to spend the first part of the day at the pool with my older boys.  I promised them on Mondays in the summer, we'd send Drew to daycare for the first part of the day (he needs to nap anyway) and we would have some pool time.   After that, I have to some how squeeze 15 loads of laundry, cleaning my bathroom, grocery shopping and cooking dinner into the rest of the day.

And now I have to get started.  I need to get my workout in, the dreaded p90x.  If  I have some spectacular results, I might share them with you.  I took all my measurements first, and a terrible "before" pic.  Wish me luck!

Dear mom,

If you were here, I would have so much to call and tell you. I would tell you about the boys getting good grades for the year (although Chris got one B, which sent him spiraling into depression, as you can imagine).  I would talk about how excited they are for summer, how cute Luke looks at Jones Valley practice, grinning the whole time.

You may have gone to Luke's games this week, but if you hadn't, I would tell you that he had a home run, a triple and a single in one game.  And that the coach bragged on him for swimming and bet his teammates $100 that none of them could beat him in a race at the pool party we had Friday (no one did).

I'd tell you about how Chris came home telling me he has a girlfriend now.  And talked to you about how sad that makes me because he is growing up so fast.  And I would tell you all his stories about her, and how they had to "fake breakup" because of all the teasing from the other kids.  And we would have laughed at the silliness of ten year olds.

I would talk to you about Drew, and how well his potty training is going.  And how sweet he has been. About how much fun he has "helping" me buying and planting flowers.  I probably would have sent you this picture of him snuggling with his dad.

I would have asked you over for a cook out probably, and shown you my finished flower beds.  I've never had nice flower beds before, I've always been afraid of gardening, but I'm giving it a whirl.  I think the rosebushes are going to have trouble where I planted them, I didn't realize just how shady that area is.  Oh well, you live and learn.

  

I'd have asked if you minded babysitting the kids this Sunday night, so Jimmy and I could go out to dinner for a much needed date night.  The boys would have been thrilled to spend an evening with Gammy.

But I can't tell you any of this.  I hope you know it all already.  I hope you see us down here, moving along with our lives.  Being happy, playing, working and loving.  All the while, missing you.

Conversations with Drew

It's just me and my littlest buddy this weekend.  And it is nice to have some one on one time with him.  He has turned into quite the little man, he is so sweet and funny.  We have played spiderman and fought monsters and pooped in underwear (him, not me).

We have gardened in the rain and gotten muddy and thrown dirt at each other. 

My favorite part though are the conversations we have.

M: Drew, you need to use good manners

D: I do has good manners!

M: You do?

D: Yes. I has good manners tuz I not spit at you or bite you or scream at you.  And I says "thank you" and "sowwy"

M:  You are sweet

D: Yes, I am

M: Am I sweet?

D: No! Yous a girl.

M: Girls aren't sweet?

D:  No.  Girls are hers.  And boys are sweet.  So I is sweet and daddy and chris and luke.  But not you.  

And last night, when it was time for bed, he asked to sleep with me and I said yes.  And then he woke me up, he always smiles at me, I wish I could get a picture of it because it's a special smile and I want to remember it forever.

But I don't have a picture, so I'll have to use this one instead

Hope you all are having a fantastic weekend!

Life...back to normal?

This week I am getting up with my kids every morning, getting them ready for school, dropping everyone off where they are supposed to go and going to work.  I do my job, I laugh, smile, have fun with my employees, chat with customers.  I come home and do the dishes, laundry, clean up, feed my family, pick kids up from various places, and I'm here when they go to bed.  I sleep in my own bed at night, and start it all over again in the morning.


Life, is back to normal.

Except, there's this emptiness that wasn't there before.  I feel like I'm not doing something that I need to be doing.  I don't have to get to my mom's house.  I don't have to pick up her medicine, or bring her breakfast, or make her coffee.  She doesn't need me to help her go to the bathroom or to call the nurse or to just sit with her.  She's gone, and that crazy whirlwind couple of months is over.

And so I just go through the motions, pretending like everything is like it was.  Only it hits me at random times.  My mom is dead.  She is gone, and I will never talk to her again.  I will never have her to call for advice.  I will never have her to go to dinner with or to call and brag about my boys to.  I will never have a relationship with anyone like that again.

It hits me at strange times.  At Cici's pizza with the boys, because she liked to eat there and would always meet us. And she'd always pay and then mention what a good deal it was and how we couldn't eat that cheaply anywhere else.  When I pick up my phone automatically to text her about Drew (finally) doing so well at potty training before I remember.  When I turn on the tv and one of the shows she watched is on.  When I go out to dinner with everyone to celebrate my sister's birthday, and she's not there.

She's the first thing on my mind every morning, and the last thought before I fall asleep at night.  I don't know how to get up every morning knowing that she is gone.  But I do.  And I will.  And I'll just go through each day, like it's a normal day.  Until one day it is.

The end...

My mom called and told me she had cancer on Feb 20th of this year.  She died yesterday, May 7th.  A little over two months from start to finish.

Those two months were, without a doubt, the two hardest months of my life.  The worry.  The tears.  The stress. Tests to find out what type of cancer, then more tests because they weren't sure.  The diagnosis of a rare stage IV cancer.  The hope that chemo would help.  The hospital visit for an "infection".  The fear when there was no infection, it was simply the cancer growing.  The dr telling us it was "the most aggressive breast cancer he'd seen in his thirty years of medicine".  Her going home and her slow decline to needing around the clock care.  Trying to get her to take medicines she didn't want to take.  Trying to explain things to her that she didn't understand.  Helping her do the most basic things in life- go to the bathroom, eat, drink, clean herself.  Making meals I knew she wouldn't eat, tea she wouldn't drink.  Very little sleep.  Too much drive thru food and caffeine.

There were moments of joy though.  When I made her laugh telling her a funny work story.   Towards the end, when she was more and more confused, and she had a moment when she looked at me and thanked me.  Thanked me for putting my life on hold for her.  A beautiful smile the day before she died, when she woke up briefly and said she wasn't in pain anymore.  Her taking a break from all her pain to yell at me for missing so much work, afraid I'd need the money. Loved knowing that my mom was in there somewhere.

I learned a lot as well.  I learned that I am capable of more than I thought.  That I have an amazing support system.  Friends, acquaintances, family and coworkers.  All helping, praying, showing their love.  People have stepped out of the woodwork to help us.  That my husband is a rock star and my boss is amazing.  My sister is wonderful.  Those I knew already, but this only reinforced it.  She has been my support, my rock and I couldn't have made it through this without her.

The night before my mom passed, the nurse had told us it would be soon.  She was finally sleeping after days of restlessness and anxiety.  That night I went to sleep and slept the best sleep I had slept in weeks.  I normally wake to check on her, or she wakes me up, or I just can't sleep.  Not that night.  I slept straight through until about 5:15 in the morning.  I went in to check on my mom and noticed her breathing had changed.  I sat with her for a minute but then I needed to run to the restroom.  I came back and she was gone.  I have no regrets that I wasn't there.  I am sure she would have wanted me to miss it.  

I have often wondered why my mother would be taken from me at such a young age, she was only 49.  I have been angry about it.  I have yelled and cried and cursed about it.  And then I thought about how everyone is here for a purpose and that when they have finished God calls them home.  And how thankful I am that my mom had me so young (17) so that I had 32 years with her.  Her job is done on this earth.  And I may not understand it, but it isn't for me to understand.  I am so thankful for her, for everything.  I am even thankful for the past two months because of what I have learned and the blessings I have realized I've always had.

I love you mom, I will think of you and miss you everyday.  Enjoy heaven, I'll see you there soon.

Isaiah 55: 8-9

8 “My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.

9 For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

We leave this world the way we came in it...

Or so they say.  I'm starting to believe it's true.  At least, caring for someone who is dying is very similar to having a baby.

There's the obsessing over each new symptom and what it might mean.  Looking up that symptom to see how much longer death/birth will be.  Reading other people's experiences to compare.   Asking the dr/nurse how much longer he thinks it will be.  Ready for it and terrified about it at the same time.

Then there's the exhaustion.  The physically draining part of this that reminds me so much of having a newborn.  A fussy newborn who never sleeps.  Spending so long trying to get them to sleep.  Waiting for them to get into a deep sleep before leaving the room.  The frustration when they wake up ten minutes later.

The inability to sleep when they are sleeping, because you've tried so many times to sleep only to have them wake you up.

Watching them sleep to see if they are still breathing.

Loving them, feeling helpless and wondering if you are doing the right things.  Constant prayer and worry.

Nearing the end...

I don't know what to think or feel right now.  My mom is quite possibly in the last days of her life.  She hasn't been eating.  She rarely drinks.  She is very confused.  She is picking at her skin and bed linens.  The tip of her nose turned purple for awhile yesterday, and her heartbeat was irregular.  All of this things are on the list of things that happen in the "Gone from my sight" pamphlet that hospice provided us with.

So my sister and I are here together instead of taking turns.  And it's hard.  Mom is confused, but she knows that she is confused.  She knows that what she says doesn't make any sense.  And she is frustrated about it.  And constantly apologizing for it.  I reminded her of all the silly things other family members have done near the end.  She smiled a little at the thought of Uncle Gordon sitting in his recliner and "fishing".  Maybe it made her feel better for a second.  I don't know.

I am afraid of so much right now.  Afraid of the moment when it happens.  Afraid of after it happens and everything I will be responsible for.  So many things running through my head.  Where will her funeral be?  Who will speak at her funeral? How will I handle all of this?  I'm 32 years old but the thought of life without my mother makes me feel like a child.

Anger

I have been up most of the night with my mom.  Her kidneys seem to be failing.  Her lower back is hurting and she is unable to use the bathroom.

One more thing for her to go through.  One more thing to cause her pain.

I'm on a roller coaster of emotions, and today's emotion is anger.  I don't understand why she has to hurt so much.  Why this has to be so torturous.  Dying is one thing... does it have to be so awful?  I'm angry and tired and worried and nervous.  But mostly today I am angry.  Angry that I have been praying for her for months and nothing I have prayed for, nothing anyone has prayed for has happened.  Is anyone listening??  What's the point of praying until I fall asleep every night?  What is the point of having everyone pray for her?


I get it.  I'm not privy to God's reasons, his decisions are not for me to understand.  I know, in my heart that God is good and he loves my mother.  But I have days like this where I doubt him.  Where I am so angry at him.  And I pray about it.  Even though I feel like he isn't listening, I still pray.  It's the only thing I can do.

Priorities and blessings.

I always go to work.  I go to work sick.  I don't stay home with sick kids unless they are REALLY sick.  I've never taken a day off, "just because".  It's my thing.  My job is my responsibility.   I am a slight control freak, and I like to know that things are being handled and everyone is doing what they are supposed to be doing.  And I worry when I'm not there.  I think it's a sickness.

My sister called called me at work yesterday.   Upset.  Crying.  Mom was having a lot of trouble breathing.  She was scared. Could I please leave work?

I ran.  Ran to my car.  Sped to my mom's. Fear in my heart the entire time.  Afraid I wouldn't make it.  In that instance,  I knew I would never forgive myself if I was working when she died.   If I wasn't there, taking care of her.  That is where I need to be now.  Helping her. Loving her.

So I've taken a leave of absence. I am very blessed to have a boss who has basically said, "whatever you need".  I am so blessed to have a husband who has said, "I'll handle everything at home".  So blessed to have friends and family like I have.  People bringing food for my family, handing me money for my mom, listening to my fears and not running from my tears.  People who are reading this right now, and caring about what I am going through.   So I thank every one of you and love you all.

Mom got some rest last night.  She's been having difficulty swallowing pills so they've given her a pain patch.  Between that and the pain meds I'm crushing up and putting in ice cream, she seems a little more comfortable.  Watching her breathe is hard. Her breathes seem very shallow and she takes one breath to three of mine.  I pray for her comfort now.  I used to pray desperately for her healing.  For a miracle.  Now I just want her to stop hurting. If leaving this world is the only way for that to happen, then so be it.

Thank you all for everything.

just waiting...

Is it better for a loved one to die suddenly in a random accident, or to know they are dying and be able to mentally prepare yourself?  Can you really prepare your self?

Watching my mom this past few weeks has been painful.  Seeing my once strong, capable mom turn into this confused, helpless person hurts so much.  She is in pain.  She is bedridden.  She is starting to get confused about simple tasks.  She's starting to snap and fight against me when I'm trying to help her.  My heart is breaking.  Just waiting.  Waiting for her to die.  Watching her lose her dignity, a little more every day.

My mom married young.  She was only 16.  She had me exactly one year, one month and one day later.  Life was never super easy for my mom.  Before she knew it, she was divorced with two small children to raise on her own.  We quickly became a team.  Me, mom, maw maw and Laura.  4 women against the world.  My maw maw babysat while my mom worked several jobs.  My dad was pretty non-existent.  She would buy extra gifts for us at Christmas and put his name on them, just to spare our feelings.  When she didn't have the money to spare.

As a grown woman and mother of three, I still find myself calling her almost daily when I need advice.  When I didn't know how to do something.  Should I take the kids to the dr?  What do you think is wrong with my car?  Anything and everything, I took to her.

I feel so many things.  Sadness.  Hopelessness.  Anger.  I want to be with her all the time.  And I don't want to be with her because it hurts so badly to see her like this.  I have a constant upset stomach.  Just waiting.  waiting.

The nurse from hospice saw her today.  I wasn't there because of school's getting out early.  The past couple of days have been rough.  She has done some crazy things.  Said somethings that make no sense.  The nurse said it reminds her of people with brain cancer or tumors.  Not that she can diagnose mom from talking to her.  Not that she would try. But that's what it is similar to. So maybe the cancer has spread more.  Maybe it hasn't, we won't know because there is no point in running that test.  I'm trying to convince her to move in with me.  Space will be tight but it will be so much easier for me to take care of her.  She doesn't want to, doesn't think she needs to have around the clock care.  God help us get through this.