Sometimes I See Her

So, it might sound a little bit crazy, but lately I see her, my mother.

I've been making sack lunches for school for 11 years... the process hasn't changed much, only lately I cut my son's pb and h sandwich in half and it reminds me of her and how she used to do it.

I cut up a banana almost every morning, the slices fall on top of a piece of toast--something I don't ever remember Mom eating, but again the way I slice the banana's in the air and let them fall on top of the bread... I haven't thought about the process--but I do it, and I see her precise hand using the knife.

Working in my kitchen with my baby girl alongside of me, I sang at the top of my lungs --You are my Sunshine-- and Little Miss joined in whenever she could. We put our clean dishes away, signing and laughing. And more than ever I saw Mom. She had me at the same age I had Little Miss. I have distinct memories of holding Mom's hands, our knotted fists swinging between us while she vacuumed. All the while singing that exact same song, her voice carrying above the hum of the vacuum. 

I don't feel like I've changed how I do things or where and when I do them. But lately I see her in myself as I do them. Maybe it's just that she's always on my mind, but then that isn't new either. I just don't remember seeing her so often in myself.

It's a happy sight.

Just do it

"Serve. It will make you feel better."
Six years ago someone told me this. She said it out of love. She said it to truly help me. She understood pain.

I didn't think she did though.
I didn't think she could, she still had her mother.
I couldn't find enough in me to fix my hair or make dinner... and she wanted me to... serve?

She was:
Older, wiser, more experienced... and right.

I didn't do it then.
And I suffered for a very long time.
Service wouldn't have taken my loss away. It wouldn't have erased my pain. Not possible.
But! It helps. It brings purpose and love into your heart and it helps.

I try to serve throughout the year.
But I have to serve today.
For myself. For my loss. For my mom.

Merry Christmas!

When Life Happens

Inspiration.
It comes in the middle of life.
It comes when you're showering or doing the dishes.
It comes when you're changing a diaper or brushing someone else's teeth.
It comes.
And sometimes you can't stop everything you're doing to apply it.
And then...
Well, often, it's gone.

Sometimes, it sticks. Sometimes it's so good. It's so right... you don't forget. You don't lose it.
Sometimes, you keep it and expand it, explore it. And make it wonderful.
Those times are happy. Super super happy.

It's been a while since I've written here...
And it isn't because of lack of inspiration. I've had it... a lot.
But life has been very much--life.
And the short notes I've jotted about my inspiring moments aren't stirring me anymore.

What is inspiring me--a picture of my  mother.
It sits on a table in my living room. It sits and stares at me so happily. It makes me smile. It makes me cry. It makes me miss her.
It's my favorite photo of her.
She had come to visit me with my sister and my niece. We were going to a musical at the college and I fixed her hair for her. She looked so pretty and she was so happy.

Her birthday is this month. Mine too. Just one of the many things we shared. I always think about her. But this time of year it seems to increase--a lot.

She gave the best hugs. The very best. No exaggeration.
I had her for 32 years. 32 years and probably 24,360 hugs.
Studies say that hugs strengthen your immune system and build self-esteem. It's no wonder I was such a happy kid.

If I could see her today, I'd say--yeah, I wouldn't say a thing. I would wrap my arms around her.
But I can't. So, instead, I'll wrap them around her grandbabies.

Just a table

It's just a table.

I know that.

I promise.

But it's also a lot of memories. 

I was dusting my couch table the other day and I started to tear up--and it wasn't the dust stinging my tear ducts. 

(Go ahead and make fun of me... I won't blame you.)

This is the table my mom bought for me.

She wanted to buy me something pretty for our new house.

We had just purchased our first home. 

A little townhouse with three levels and beautiful finishes. 

So, we went shopping at one of the two furniture stores in my home town. We looked all through the store and I found this table that I loved. It felt kind of vintagey to me and I loved the design in the wood, but it wasn't cheap.

So, we kept looking. We talked and laughed and my dad made fun of us for being silly girls.

In the end nothing compared and we came home with my beautiful... pricey, couch table.

That was in 2003.

With two, soon to be three, little boys in the house, my beautiful table did not stay perfect. 

L used it as a teething soother.

#1 stomped his dinosaurs across it.

And the Sheriff has used it many many times to dangle anguished super heroes from. 

The last four years Little Miss has made sure it's stayed decorated... with Barbies and stickers and plastic tiaras. 

Every Christmas it holds my favorite Christmas decoration, my nativity. I wrap white lights around it's legs and make a nativity scene across the entire thing.

Okay... so to anyone who walks into my house, it's just a table.

But to me, it's so much more.

I love that table.

Guilt... the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I've had an epiphany for myself this week.

I heard a talk and I read a book, and ....

epiphany!

Changing my life--epiphany.

First what you need to know:

When someone close to you dies, you often take on a lot of guilt with the grief. At least I did. And one thing I learned this week was I'm not alone in that.

Five years ago my sweet little mother died and there are still things that rack my heart with guilt. Things I cannot change, but scenes I'll still play out a hundred times in my mind-- how I should have done this... what I should have said...

So, the talk:

On Sunday I went to church in a different ward, as part of my calling. President Rob Andrus spoke. And one of the things he talked about was guilt. He said (and I am totally paraphrasing here) that guilt is a good thing when it moves us to change, when it moves us to do better, when it moves us to repent. BUT when we cannot change what's done, when repentance isn't needed, when we feel guilty over the past--guilt will be destructive and a tool of the adversary.

epiphany

The book: A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

I read it for book club. I read it because my friend Fara had it in her hand and said, "I'm done, you should read it." And handed it to me. Otherwise... it wouldn't have happened. 

I'm so grateful that it did. 

It's one of my favorite books now. I borrowed it, read it, and literally I shut the book after reading the last page and went to my computer and bought it. 

It's insanely powerful and insightful.

It's beautiful and real. So, so real.

I hate to tell you too much because it's just not the same as reading it. It really isn't. But--the mom is sick, the son is young and filled with responsibility for things he shouldn't be--dinner, dishes, as well as her sickness. 

Toward the end the mom says this to her son: "And if one day...you look back and feel bad for being so angry, if you feel bad for being so angry that you couldn't even speak to me, then you have to know, Conor, you have to know that it was okay. It was okay. That I knew. I know okay? I know everything you need to tell me without you having to say it out loud. All right?"

epiphany

And between the talk and the book, I finally thought to myself--my mom knows. She knows how much I love her. She knows that I wish I could have been there. She knows that I wish I had been stronger. 

She knows. And the guilt that I've carried so long, isn't helping anyone. 

Last Thanksgiving

A little more than 5 years ago my mother had her Last Thanksgiving.

We didn't know it would be her last, though looking back now, maybe we should have.

Maybe my siblings did, maybe I was the only one naive enough to believe there would be another.

My momma taught me a lot over the years and that last Thanksgiving was no different.

We all filled out cards I had brought. Thankful cards. Everyone filled out a line or two expressing their thanks for family and food and homes and most of all mom/grandma!

But my mom sat in a chair unable to move too much due to the lymphoma that had invaded her little body and the radiation that reeked havoc inside and out. She hurt all over. Yet, she picked up a pen and filled out both sides of that card, every inch. She was going through the worst pain in her life, the greatest trial she'd ever faced and she didn't have enough space to express her thanks. 

And at the end of that card she wrote that she was the luckiest person in the world.

She went into the hospital the next day and never came out. Five years ago today my sweet little mother left this earth--the luckiest woman in the world.

She is the kind of person I want to be.

She radiates Christmas and the spirit of love and thankfulness to the greatest gift a loving Heavenly Father could give.

And I am so grateful I got to be her daughter.

Mom filling out her card. 

Love you forever mom.