Dreams, Ponderings, and Happenings

I had a dream last night that I was in Paradise, and had just learned that an old building had collapsed there, killing many people. It was an old hotel that had always been there (in real life the hotel had burnt down (?) decades before I was even born- I'd only heard about it's existence from my mom and played on the rubble of it's old foundation). In my dream, Renae and I went to search through part of the hotel that still remained. I looked in a cupboard, and found a stack of journals. I opened one after another, and realized that they were my mom's. I started crying, because I had always known that there had to be something somewhere with all of her thoughts written down. It was such a vivid dream. It's funny how most of my most intense dreams always take place in Paradise.

Old Hotel in Paradise, winter of 1955- picture posted on facebook by my cousin in
2011-it was fun to see, as I had heard about it my whole life, but had never seen it.

Mom was on my mind this morning.  I go to a class called bodyflow every Friday, and on one of the "letting go" stretch exercises, the instructor plays a song called "Still Here" by Natasha Bedingfield.  I'm already pretty relaxed from all the the stretches and songs before that one, so that particular song hits me particularly hard.  But I do love it.

On a completely different note, I want to talk about my son.  This morning I was up early, sitting on the couch drinking a cup of coffee.  When 7:20 rolled around, I heard Derrin's alarm go off.  He got up, and crept over to Kloe's room, and in the sweetest voice whispered,"Kloe, it's time to get up, okay?"  The kindness in his voice moved me.  At meeting the other night, Kloe was freezing to death.  Derrin took off his suit jacket and gave it to her, which also completely moved me.  I know that my kids fight like little cats and dogs, as only siblings can, but there are moments when I get a glimpse of what their relationship might be like in the future, and it makes me so happy.  I want them to be close friends as they grow up, and always have each other's back.  That is one of my biggest hopes for my kiddos.

The kids have been having so many field trips for school that it's been hard to keep up.  This week Kloe went swimming with her class (which Derrick when to) and then a nature hike (which I went on).  Derrin went on a trip with his band class, and then he went to the school he will be attending next year for 6th grade.  He seems excited about his new school.  He said that he will be able to take a semester of Spanish, so he is jacked about that.

explaining what art she created with the materials she found in the woods. 

her "nature art" project

on our field trip

drawing the bug her team found

natural face paint

painted girl

We survived last weekends camping trip. It was as dire as I predicted, but I have to say I had a good time. Probably a better time than most of the other campers there, because I had not harbored any hopes that the weather would be other than it was:)

Our assembly is next weekend, so the kids will be getting out of school on Wednesday for the summer (two days early) so we can take off to Billings.  Summer has arrived for real!!

October Feelings

It's funny; if any of you were to be standing in front of me and ask how I am doing right now, I would tell you I am doing fine.  And I am.  I'm working at my job again (and that is a good thing), my laundry is mostly done, and my house isn't too messy. I'm off of that horrible diet so I can eat chocolate again, and my kids are not hating school or their new teachers.  Derrick and I are doing fine.

And yet, every time I sit down to write lately, it is sad.  There is a disconnect somewhere.  There is 'the fine me', sitting here writing.  I feel pretty good, no headache, don't feel like crying, don't feel upset or mad or really any negative emotion.

Then there is the 'three o'clock in the morning me' that wakes up every single night and thinks and thinks.  Lots of anxiety.  Am I doing enough?  Am I trying hard enough?  Am I being a good enough friend?  Good enough mother? Good enough wife? Sister and daughter?  Human being? Anxiety over past mistakes.  Anxiety that I will never be good enough for anything.  That I will never be as strong as I should be.

And then there is the 'me when I am by myself at home, on my couch, by myself'.  Everything feels pretty futile.  I have 'what is the point' mentality.  Of course I know what the point is.  But there is only a 'point' if I am strong enough and good enough.  And it feels like I fall on my face pretty much all of the time. 

Then I'm back to feeling fine.  Fine is a good place to be.  But it is unreasonable for me to just expect to sail through this month (or life in general) and just get to feel fine.  In fact, I can't think of even one friend who isn't going through something really hard right now and having their own struggle.  This just happens to be my own particular struggle.

Since the middle of September, every day corelates to what was happening at this exact time last year.  We went to our assembly in the end of September, and it reminded us that that was the first assembly Mom couldn't go to because she was just so sick.  September 28th was the day Derrin turned 11, and it reminded me of calling him last year from Mom's house to ask him what being 10 felt like.  Last weekend was the anniversary of the first time we gave her the strong pain medication patch that took away her pain but also her ability to talk.  And now every day is a memory of a day in a string of days that progressively became darker and darker.

This time last year was one of the hardest my family has ever gone through.  I can't describe what it felt like to watch Mom fading away.  I remember looking in the mirror and seeing a look in my eyes I'd never seen before, and I couldn't make that look go away no matter how hard I tried.  It was so surreal to see real suffering in my own eyes.  It was heartbreaking to see that suffering in the eyes of every other person losing her too.

When she died, there was grief, but it ended that horrible period of time, that month of unendurable suffering.  We grieved, but we didn't have to exist in a world where our mom was hurting anymore.  There was a relief in that.  I never had to walk into that house to see her hurting on that bed again. 

It was like the fire that was cancer had taken five years to reach us as we were all bound above it, knowing what the inevitability was.  We fought as hard as we could to put the fire out, but one day it reached our feet.  Then it took a month to consume our bodies as we dangled there, not able to do a thing to put it out, just twisting in pain as we burned.  And then the fire had nothing left to consume.  And we were burned and scarred and hurting, but we weren't on fire anymore, and I was relieved. 

And every day I woke up and I wasn't on fire anymore, I was relieved. 

I still don't know that I'm done feeling relieved, and the fire has been out for a year. 

Maybe we are just far enough on the other side, that under the scar tissue old nerves are starting to reawaken. We spent a lot of time watching the fire build under us. That sort of thing really takes a lot of attention. Fear is a powerful thing.

The first six months after, I didn't stop moving or running.  Running makes me feel better.  It is a tangible thing that I can do to FIGHT despair and guilt and depression.  It makes me focus on and appreciate the fact that I can BREATHE, that I have this body that is still alive and has the ability to feel good, feel pain, struggle and sweat.  I have a heart in this body that still pounds when I make it. 

I haven't been running so much these last couple of months.  I need to get out there again and remind myself that I am alive and breathing.

I haven't even really done any photography this year, not like before.  Maybe that is another thing that needs to be picked up again. 

Writing helped before too.  It's easier just to write about what's going on in our family life, and that serves a purpose, but when I started THIS particular blog, it was called 'The Lamentations of a Girl from Paradise'.  Sometimes lamenting needs to be allowed.  In my life I can't just talk about this stuff.  There needs to be a place to put it.  Tonight it is going here.

Without Her

Hated that this day was here, that we were up there on this beautiful day standing around a beautiful stone with her name on it. Without her. I hate not having her with us. HATE it.

It's been nine (actually more like eight and a half) months since she died, and we are all doing our best. But there are still times when I have to remind myself that she is really gone.

 

 

The Last Fight

I know I've written about this before, but I've just been thinking about Mom a lot today and needed to write it again.

This morning on the way into town, for some reason or another, I had a flashback of a phone call with hospice I'd had about seven months ago. I was in the back room at my parents house where I'd been staying for the last week or so to help take care of my mom. She was sick, and had taken a decidedly turn for the worse. She'd had Stage 4 Colon Cancer for four years. It had been four years of fighting, first with chemo and surgeries (which is a whole other story), and then with natural medicine and a special diet (also another story). She'd lived far longer than the doctors had thought possible. She'd outlived the projections of every website and message board I'd visited in my obsessive need to understand what we were up against. Her CEA (tumor marker) numbers had stayed low, and nothing had showed up in her monthly exams for a long time. Then the numbers did start to go up. Then, after three years of nothing, they found a new spot on her liver. It only took four months to go from finding that small spot, to my being in that back room on the phone with a lady from hospice.

Mom had been getting intravenous fluids that whole previous week. As weak as she was, we would help her get dressed, get her to the car with one of us on each side to keep her from falling, drive her to the hospital and wait the two to three hours to get the fluids and then repeat the process to get her home. We'd done this every day for a week, but the benefits of the fluids were starting to be countered by the difficulty of the journey. She was just getting too sick to make the trip anymore. We'd been talking to her doctor, to the hospital, to anyone we could think of to figure out how to get the fluids to come to her. We felt certain there had to be a traveling nurse, or someone who could administer the fluids. If the problem was that insurance or medicare wouldn't cover the cost, we were all more than willing to pay for it. We just needed someone to be willing to do it.

When I asked the lady from hospice if that was something she could help us with, instead of answering my question she asked me some of her own: What did I think was really going on? What did I think the fluids were going to do for my mom? Would it be better to keep her going long as we could, as she got sicker and sicker? Were we doing this for her, or were we doing this for ourselves? Beyond these questions, we discussed that Mom's body wasn't really benefiting from the fluids as well as we'd hoped. Her liver and kidneys had already begun to shut down, and we knew she experiencing fluid retention and swelling. The fluids we were fighting so desperately for were doing more harm than good.

I had one of those moments right then where the blood thunders through your ears, the air gets sucked out of your lungs, and time slows down. She was so sick. Every day she was getting sicker. Of course we knew she was going to die. But until that moment, we'd been in fight mode. This was the first moment I realized the fight was really over.

The lady on the other end of the phone waited until I stopped crying, and then we made arrangements for her to come over and talk to the rest of the family. We'd been fighting this disease aggressively as a family for over four years. It was going to take some professional help to transition from that all consuming fight into helping our Mom let go and... die.

She came over and we all gathered around the couch where Mom was laying, and we talked about the fact that she really was dying. It was singularly the saddest discussion I've ever been a participant in. Everyone went out and left Renae and I alone with Mom. We talked more about how this was really it. We told her how much we loved her, and how we would be there with her through it all, and then we would be there to see her on the other side.

I wonder how she felt at that moment. I think about that moment a lot. I regret that moment sometimes. I wish we'd just stayed in denial about the fact she was really going to die so we'd never had that discussion. Once it was out there, it just seemed like any fight she had inside just went away. She was just ready for it to be over with.

Renae, Steph, Brandon, Cookie and I all took shifts staying with her and Dad. At first we were still gently trying to get her to eat and drink, but in retrospect that still may have been our lingering need to fight for her life. Eventually even that stopped.

I would stay for two days, and then leave for one or two. I would go to work on the days I was away. Work became somewhat of a sanctuary where my mind could be otherwise occupied. Then I would drive the hour and a half back to my parents. I would feel the heaviness become worse and worse until I drug myself up their steps and into their house where I would see her again.

We'd brought a hospital bed into their living room, so I would see her the minute I opened the door. Every time I opened that door, it made me want to recoil in horror. Our mom was lying there in that bed dying! It couldn't have felt more surreal. By then she was drugged and asleep, and unable to talk very much even when she was aware. It was a living, waking nightmare we couldn't escape.

A strange, numb, detached-ness decended upon me. I've never been like that my whole life. It was like my brain just shut parts of itself off. I felt made of stone.

We held her hand. We brushed the hair out of her face. We put chapstick on her lips and swabs of water in her mouth. We told her how much we loved her over and over and told her we were going to be okay. We promised her we would never stop talking about her to our kids so they would always remember her. We talked about our hope for the future when we would all be together again and she would be healthy. I hope that she felt some comfort from us being there with her. We knew she was scared; her brow and face would be scrunched up with anxiety and pain, even though she couldn't voice it. The best we could do was give her the shots of pain and anxiety meds that hospice had left for her.

The last time I saw her alive, the truth is, I knew it would be the last time... I should have stayed. I should have stayed. I should have stayed. But when my niece came over for her shift, I left. To escape the horror, the impending doom, and the despair, I went back to my house. The next morning I talked to my niece and she told me that Mom's hands were getting colder, and I knew I should go back. I knew the signs of impending death by heart; I'd read them over and over in hopes of preparing myself. But I didn't go back. I went to work instead. Renae called me at work to let me know she was at Mom's. She held the phone to Mom's ear so I could tell her that I love her. She couldn't talk, but I could hear her breathing loud in an attempt (I choose to believe this) to communicate with me. Renae then called Danny, and a similar conversation happened.

Renae was on one side of Mom holding her hand, and Cookie was on her other side holding her hand when it started to happen. They both told her it was okay to let go, and then she did. I am so sad I wasn't there when it happened. I am also so grateful I wasn't.

6 Months

It's been six months today since Mom died.  It still doesn't feel real, and I guess it probably won't ever feel real.  I can still hear her voice in my head.  The way she bickered with Steph about all the things they squabbled over (and that voice makes me smile as I type this), and the way she would say "BiiiIIiiiLLL" at my dad to get his attention (also makes me smile).  I can feel exactly what it was like to hug her, how she smelled, what it felt like when she kissed me on the cheek and told me she loved me.  Man, I miss her.

Dreamin

I had a dream about Mom the other night.  Derrick and I were at a movie theater, visiting before the movie (and we had snuck in two very cute and naughty ferrets under our coats... can't imagine what they represent...) when I looked up and saw Mom and Dad sitting a couple rows ahead of us.  In the way of dreams, it didn't even occur to me that she wouldn't (or couldn't, shouldn't?) be there. Derrick and I went up to sit by them, and I sat by Mom.  We didn't really talk very much, I just held her hand and snuggled into her while we watched the movie.  Good dream.

Crying

“Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later and then you still have to decide what to do.”

 C.S. Lewis quote

 

One of those days

I'm not doing so good today.  I guess it's to be expected, this is usually around the time (during a month) when I start feeling everything more.  I think women are made this way because we need to be able to process what life deals us, but if we always felt everything this intensely we wouldn't be able to function ever.

Didn't go to work today. Still in my pajamas on the couch (at 12:30 in the afternoon).  Since I'm already in "that" place, I decided to work on Mom's slideshow today.  I've been trying to figure out how to get it on a disc to send out to relatives for awhile.  This was the first time I tried to with my new laptop, and it actually worked.  Sweet success- and one less thing hanging over my head!  That slideshow is a killer though.  I feel like a limp wrung out dishrag.  I hadn't watched it since the funeral, and it hasn't lost any of it's emotional impact.  At least today wasn't a total loss now- even if I've done nothing else, I did the slideshow.



My favorite pic of my momma and I (from the slideshow)taken right after my great niece
(and Mom's great grand-daughter) Aiyana was born.  Happy tears that day.



...Of a Tree Called Life...

This weekend was spent at home, staying quiet and spending time together.  Derrick tried to engage me in a game of chess, which I am a total novice at (but still almost beat him- haha!).  The rest of the time I was working on my painting/project.  I've been wanting to get this poem on my wall ever since my mom's funeral.  It will always remind me of her (not because it was a favorite of her's, but because of the sentiment expressed in it).  I like how it turned out:)


...of a tree called life



i carry your heart with me- by ee cummings



the watch and ear ring were both my momma's







My Momma, around age 17, playin' her guitar

Not Alone

There is one sick little girl in this house right now.  Poor bebe.  She has a fever (gave her some tylenol about an hour ago, and she was finally able to go to sleep), and is feeling sick to her stomach.  It's going to be a long night- there is a bowl by the bed in preparation, and more tylenol ready to be dosed.  Might as well plan on getting sick myself too.  This is a three day weekend, so hopefully we'll have some time to recoupe.  At least Derrick made it home last night; a very happy thing for us:)

Talked to my brother Danny tonight.  Talked to Renae.  Talked to Dad.  The hard thing about grief is that even though you can talk to each other about it, you still have to do the work of really grieving on your own.  No one can do it for you, and you can't do it for any one else.  It really does help to talk to others who are going through loss though- makes you realize that a lot of the feelings we go through are just universal.  Plus, I admit it, pretty much every minute of the day at least a part of me is thinking about my Mom.  Everything relates to her.  Everything triggers memories of her.  I think about that last month of her life a lot.  It's stuff you can't just talk about 24/7 with anyone who crosses your path, however.  It is (for me) a very big relief to be able to talk about her, and all of these feelings that I'm going through, and to also hear others talk about her (or their lost loved one) and all of the feelings that they are experiencing too.

I wrote a blog this week and then deleted it because I thought it was too negative.  I'm going to really try not to let myself do that anymore.  Not all feelings are going to be positive right now- that has to be okay.  Walking though the hard feelings is the only way to get to the other side.  Think I'm gong to repost it here:

Broken Records
"If I had experienced different things, I would have different things to say."- Just read that. I like it. The author goes on to say," So often I have felt troubled and guilty bearing witness to my pain". It is so hard to express real feelings without feeling  bad for possibly depressing or horrifying your listener.  It requires faith in the other person, that they care enough to listen and are strong enough to handle what you are saying.  

I am home from work today. I went in for a little while this morning, but came home. I stayed home yesterday too. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. I don't know how people do this- go to work every day, whether they feel like they are bleeding internally or not. Even when my heart isn't hurting, I'm just so tired. Just want to sleep, and sleep... and sleep. I really do like my job. Before my mom died, I didn't dread going in. It is good for me- provides scructure for my day, allows me to be helpful and also contribute to our income. I like the people there very much. I like to be a dependable person and employee. I do deal with cranky people a lot, but that has always been part of working there- you just need to have some compassion and a sense of humor. It's just been harder to go there and deal with people- their frustration, anger, tragedies.  In a way it is good for me though- everyday I am reminded over and over that I am not the only one in this world dealing with loss. So many other people have so much more they are going through. If my misery needs company, I am in just the right place for it.

I know that dwelling on negative things accomplishes nothing except to create ruts in the inner workings of the mind that are hard to get unstuck from. There were just so many things that happened or were said when everything was at its most vulnerable moment. Sometimes it's hard not to ruminate.

Need that serenity... to accept the things I cannot change. Also, need to keep thinking of the wonderful things in my life. My record is broken at the moment... might as well add the good stuff in there for it to keep skipping over too.

nobody's darling but mine- merle haggard

Various Dreams

I want to learn how to make this:

I ordered a book about a week ago to learn how to do metal stamping.  I am EXCITED (YAYAYAY) to get it!!!  It comes with a DVD and everything!!!  My plan is to watch it, become instantly enlightened, buy all of the tools and materials to proceed, make a ton of them, have Stephanie become my selling agent, sell millions and then retire.  You gotta have a plan.
Something else I've been dreaming about is photography.  Tara (fellow aspirer and awesome photographer) sent a link to me the other day at http://www.weddingshow.com/.  Someday, we are going to do this.  Because you gotta have a dream too.

I need more hours in the day.

Tomorrow is the last day of eight hour-age at my job.  The plan is for Derrick to stay home tomorrow, get us packed **!** (A moment of silence here.....  and appreciation....  to go on a trip and not have to pack sounds even BETTER than a dream come true for me!!!) (One more moment of silence- this is just that good..............okay, now we proceed), then he will load up stuff and kids, pick me up at work at the end of my day, and onward to Seattle we shall go!  :)))  It will be so good to see David and Tara, spend time with them and also away from snow.  I plan on wearing a bikini while we are there.  I don't care if it's raining and cold- it'll be warmer there than it is here!!!

It is so gray outside today.  I'm tired- it was one of those dreaming nights last night- the kind that you wake up from feeling weepy and emotional.  It was weird though- instead of Mom, I was dreaming about Dad.  Actually, it was about a letter I had written about Dad (in my dream, because I've never actually written anything like that).  It was all crumpled up, and had some sad stuff scribbled all over it.  There were big x's crossing off all of the sad stuff, and the words "He cares more than you know" were written over and over in the side margins.  It doesn't surprise me that I dreamed about him.  I called him last night and we talked for about five minutes.  It's just so hard- our relationship always sorta hinged on Mom.  She was the one I talked to when I called.  If he ever answered the phone, it was always a quick "hi" for us and then he'd ask if I wanted to talk to Mom and I would say "Yep, love ya Dad" and then it was on to Mom.

I've been reading a book about goals and time management, and one of the goals the writer mentioned is building a closer relationship with one's dad.  That kind of caught me off guard.  Aren't parental relationships supposed to be one of those effortless bonds that just happen because of all of the shared DNA<--- Yeah, I know that last sentence doesn't even make sense, but a part of me resents that my little idealistic notion isn't reality.

The truth is, my dad worked really hard to support six children and a wife that he loved dearly, and a lot of the time I was growing up he was sleeping (he worked night-shifts).  He has a genius and a passion for anything mechanical, and one of his favorite pastimes is working on cars (or tinkering with anything with bolts and metal parts).  I inherited a large amount of introversion from him, and also the inclination to get obsessed with projects, although mine are more crafty/artsy where as his are mechanical.  I've typed him as ISTP where as I am INFP (those links go to a pretty brutal typing link, but it feels accurate- probably because each type is a composite description from many of that specific type) (As another complete side note, I find it hilarious that the INFP description is so much longer than the ISTP- it WOULD be!  INFPs are WAAAAY more concerned about this kind of stuff, as of course that personality type would be...  I could go on and on...).

Anyhoo, I'm searching for a welding class for us to have a common bond with- something I could use with jewelry and projects, and he could use on his metal stuff- he just got a plasma cutter to play with.  Haven't found anything yet, but I bet the Adult Education at the Emily Dickenson School will eventually have one.  Put that one in the goal category too, I guess.

So... those are my rambling and disjointed thoughts today:)

One Room

This was a hard weekend. I'm borderline between being glad that we went ahead and attempted it (and succeeded with at least their bedroom), and thinking we did it too soon for our own good. My body feels like it weighs a million pounds. It wants to crawl into bed and sleep for the next six months.

I just unpacked everything- didn't want to start off this week with unpacked bags everywhere again. I didn't really bring home a lot of things from Mom's, but the things I did bring are all special. One of the most special things is an old jewelry box that she always had on her dresser when I was a kid. Wish I knew the story behind it- it's been old and tattered looking as long as I can remember. It used to be a music box at some point, but it's broke. If you turn the mechanism in back manually you get a haunted version of "Memories". I used to spend a lot of time on Mom's bed searching through the treasures she had in there- all old vintage 50's stuff, some false teeth that belonged to her grandpa, old watches, and old pictures tucked behind a little mirror on the inside of the lid of her four older kids, her sisters and my Dad. I didn't keep the teeth in there (although I sort of regret it now- they were really fascinating as kid), but there is a small selection of necklaces, rings and earrings in there that I will always remember her wearing. There is a Black Hills Ring in there that she wore the whole time I was growing up... reminds me of my mom in the 90's.

For clothes, I brought home a lot of socks (mostly just being practical there- I hate having cold feet as much as she did), a soft fuzzy warm robe, and some scarves that smell like her. I have her patchouli perfume and oil too, but it may be awhile before I will be able to wear those.

I don't think we will be doing anymore of this until next spring. I do want to try to get down to Dad's more though- it was very comforting to see him, Renae, Steph, Cookie and Nancy- we need each other. It was good for Aiyana and Kloe and Derrin to play together. We need to start making new memories there. It was also really great to see my friends at the meeting in Thompson Falls. Now for some sleep- unfortunately not the six months I'd like, but at least eight hours before getting up and starting another work week.

Happy-ness

Sometimes I read through this blog and it makes me feel bad to see the happy stuff. It's been only 2 months since Mom died. If my life were different, if I didn't have my family, these two babies who depend on me to make their world turn...

...but that isn't even true...   the truth is, I just don't want to live in that dark place being swallowed up by sadness- it hurts too bad. So many people I know have died or lost loved ones this year. Mothers, fathers, sons, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, teachers, mentors, friends.... Life keeps going forward to everyone left behind. There's a whole history of humankind who've all died in the end, no matter what their story was.

 I don't know what my point is here... Except I have want to be here now- I am alive, and I want to be alive. The real choice is HOW I am going to be alive. I can't choose the dark place and still live my life. The only way to move forward is toward the light, and that means allowing, no fighting for, happiness.

I know I will see my Mom again... Time doesn't exist for her right now, but someday she will want to know that I did the best I could with my life. I want to tell her that I missed her horribly every single second she wasn't with me, but that I was still able to be happy and that I made a happy life for my family.

It will get better

I should not be allowed to be around people today.   My short-term memory is non-existent, my verbal filter is letting "facts" be released that don't quite make it very high on the accuracy scale.  My ability to retain anything today without inserting my own weirdness into it is just not there.

Darn you office stapler that I am unable to fix today.  Next week when my brain works again, you will submit to me!!!

This has been a weird week.  I posted in here on Wednesday about being sad that day, but then I deleted it.  I hate being a Debbie-downer.  I fight sadness pretty hard through trying to control what I think about, running (which hasn't been enough), and what I eat (which was a ton Nutella). With all that being said,  I was a WRECK on Wednesday.  I stayed home from service, work, and meeting that day.  My day was spent divided between crying (the first session which Derrick was there to hug me through.  Love that man so much), laundry, crying, trying to work through some health insurance stuff I'm working on for the kids, crying, going through my kids baby books... eating Nutella, popcorn and drinking tea, crying, and finally crashing on the couch with a book for the rest of the day.  It all started the night before, I had so many dreams of my mom that night.  I woke up eventually around three and then the ever dreaded thinking started, the regrets, the being mad at both of us for not being the perfect daughter or the perfect mother, missing her and then just my general frustration with myself.  Wednesday sorta helped purge all of that.  Renae and I were texting through the day- that always helps:)

Thursday was back to work time.  One of my favorite quotes from a movie is  "You gotta be rich to be insane. Losing your mind is not a luxury for the middle class."  Sooo true (although I have to say, the people at my work have been awesome- the pressure is from myself, not the job).  So I went to work (although I looked*and still look*crapalicous), arrived late, stumbled through the day without any major mishaps, left late, and went home.  Real life just doesn't stop.  I talked to Tara on the phone for a couple hours last night- such an awesome phone call.  Friends (and sisters) are the best pick-me-up of all.

Just need to finish getting through this day.  So far my biggest hang-up has been that rotten stapler.  This weekend includes a going away party and a funeral.  Maybe after the funeral, some of the stress will let up.  I'm ready to feel good again, okay?

Loss

I (and a lot of other people) lost a very special person yesterday in a car accident. It was a personal loss to me because this man has been there for me these last couple of years, helping me figure out some things that very well could have permanently altered my life in a negative way if I hadn't have changed them. Because of his own life experience, and his ability to use the bible in a way that could reach both my mind and heart, his words sunk in. They have stuck with me in such a way that it is his voice I hear whenever I am tempted to revisit self-destruction. I can't believe that he is gone. He was one of those pillars that you expect to be there for a lifetime for you to lean on... I wish that I had told him again how much I appreciated everything he had done for me and how much I loved him. One thing that I have been holding dear to my heart is that one of the last times that we talked he told me that he was proud of me. That meant a great deal to me. I will have to hold on to that, and also hold the same things that reassure me about my mom- time doesn't exist for them now, they are safe in Jehovah's memory, and the next thing they know they'll be waking up in the Paradise.

Holding It Together

It's been...

..one month today.

One of the things I miss most about mom is how I'd just have to think about calling her, and my phone would ring... She'd be calling me. It was funny- half of the time Renae would be trying to call too, like we'd all decided we needed to talk at the same moment. I talked to my mom almost every day of my life... Even if it was just a thirty second phone call to say hi and I love you. I miss her.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Run, Running, Runable, run-atious, Runanananun

So I am officially signed up for the "Run for the Health of It" 5K this Saturday. Should be interesting as I haven't been able to get myself to run even ONCE this whole month. I may be walking quite a bit of it. I'm hoping that this will be a springboard for beginning to run again though. I need to do it!!! Between my obsession with chocolate, black licorice, and anything fatty and delicious lately PLUS my couch potato-ism, my pants were a bit tight this morning. I was so going to run today before work... that didn't happen, but I did make a green drink (kale, blue berries, cranberries, banana) and took my vitamins for the first time in a month- yay for self-care... But seriously, running and all that other stuff is going to be huge in the surviving of this winter, which has always been a struggle for me anyways, even before everything that has happened with mom.

I've been reading a lot about delayed grief. Talked to Renae yesterday about how I just don't seem to feel much of anything right now (besides being so tired and lethargic), and she said that is how she feels too. Brandon too- he hasn't really cried at all... and I know Steph is there too. Even Dad seems to be there with us. A lot of stuff I've been reading says that this can happen a lot with care givers of terminally ill loved ones- it's a coping mechanism we have when we need to get through an especially hard time (like when caring for someone who is actively dying), but that it is hard to turn off after the crisis has passed. I feel like we are sitting on a ticking time bomb. Dad wants us to come down and go through her things soon. Also, we are need to choose a headstone and sprinkle her ashes...

Back to the race... SO, Renae called me yesterday to let me know that Partnership for Health is one of it's sponsors and beneficiaries. It is... not sure if ironic is the right word here... well, just a fun fact for us, especially since Steph and I (Patsy's progeny) are going to run something for them, since they were the ones who let her go for YEARS without a colonoscopy, even after she repeatedly reported symptoms that screamed colon cancer. If they would have listened to her (even if they would have just had her get one because she was over fifty), she would still be alive today. Because of what happened to Mom, they changed the whole structure of when to recommend colonoscopies to their patients. This run could even be in reaction to what happened to her- trying to make colonoscopies more available and affordable to lower-income people. So, it will be a bittersweet thing to run for them on Saturday... mostly sweet though. I wish that funds had have been available for my mom all those years ago (and that her doctor would have recommended she use them).