its been two years....

I am sitting here at my desk, with my kids running around, screeching, slamming doors, knocking each other over, and being generally wild.  My intent and purpose in being here is to read a chapter of my sociology book and take a quiz.  Somehow as I sit here with intentions of being productive, in the ninth hour of course, I cannot get into the groove of homework.  I can blame it on the distraction of the kids, but in reality it is the gravity of sadness on my heart today that keeps me from my work.

Over the past two years, I have stuffed grief, been in denial, and put on a smile in order to be strong.  Somehow this front isn’t working anymore.  God is breaking down the giant walls of Jericho and each stone is crumbling down.  I am suddenly beginning to grieve, to accept that it all wasn’t just one big nightmare and that yes, my mom really did die. 

There are parts of me that are raging with anger.  I am mad at her for taking the risk with the medications she was on, anger with my dad for allowing her to, anger with God for putting her in pain in the first place, for not allowing her to sleep, and making her so desperate that she would take such risks.  Most of all, I am so bitterly upset for my kids.  They lost their “real mama”, Kylie lost her best friend.  I have a six-and-a-half year-old who lost her mama, her best friend, her sanctuary at age four and still remembers her in detail.  The girl still grieves her deeply.  She has a scar on her heart.  Every parent tries to protect their little ones from pain, as did I, but this was out of my control, but it wasn’t out of God’s.  He did not have to take her.  I know in my head that God’s plan for us is good, but deep in my heart like a disobedient toddler I question, why?

I have a deep sorrow in missing my mom.  I miss her every day in watching my kids grow up without her in their lives.  I miss her every day in cooking and not being able to call her.  I miss her every day in parenting and not being able to ask advice.  I miss her every day in my frustrations and not having her there to vent to.  I miss her every day in weakness and not having her to pray for me.  I miss her every day in so many other ways.  It is like there is a part of me missing.  This gap, this hole, this canyon is so dark and vast with no way out.  It is empty and lonely and my best friend is gone.

There is part of me that is still in shock, too, along with the anger and the sorrow.  It all came out of nowhere, like a thief in the night, literally.  I was texting her within hours of her passing.  When the officer notified me over the phone, I panicked.  When I was the first to respond to the house after the police, I didn’t know what to expect.  In my mind she had gotten into an accident.  I had not even considered that she would be safely tucked into her bed.  When I got there and my dad tried describing to me how he found her I looked up those stairs, saw their bedroom door closed and panic flew through me. She’s up there?!?

Under the circumstances it was treated as a murder investigation until proven otherwise.  We were all questioned and as I was the oldest child and my dad was in no shape to talk to anyone, the medical examiner called me.  I was the one who notified friends and family.  I was the one who had to step up and think straight.  I had to protect everyone around me and nobody protected me.  This is why I still have flashbacks of that day, like a movie.  They come and take over; sometimes I fall to the ground.  I can hear the officer’s voice on the phone, I can hear the cries of loved ones, but the worst is the flashback of her in the body bag.  Her hair was hanging out or else I wouldn’t have believed it was her in that black bag.  But it was.  The chaplain told us to lay hands on her and I refused.  She told me that I would regret it, and guess what?  I don’t.  I wish I hadn’t seen the body bag.  I wish I could forget the whole day.  I wish I could hear her laugh again, see her smile.  I wish.

I am not sure there is a way to truly heal from this, not sure there is a chance of peace.  It was so sudden, so unexpected and so hurtful.  There is no way to move on, no way to change any of it.  My life is seriously altered as are the lives of my family members and our close friends.  She is part of my identity. 

Will the flashbacks ever end?  Will I ever be able to heal? Will the anger I feel pass?  Will the sorrow ever become joy?  This is my prayer, but it doesn’t feel possible.  I am afraid to hope and be let down.  Year two has been harder than year one. 

Spring's Renewing Aroma of Change

Today I sat in my math class, reflecting. I had been really nervous because there was supposed to be an exam. Once the teacher informed us that we would be reviewing today the fog of anxiety lifted and there was sudden relief.

I felt this calm penetrate my very existence. Why is it that I sweat the small stuff?  Why do I let things like math tests, parking the van, and my house being a mess stress me out so badly?  Are these things so important that I should allow them power over me?

When I choose to let my anxiety win, I lose out on life.  It affects how I treat others, how I accomplish my duties, and my overall health.  Is it really worth it?  IS snapping at my kids, being rude to my husband, getting headaches, pain in my chest and losing sleep acceptable?  Absolutely not.

Sitting in my math class today gave me this new perspective and I suddenly felt refreshed and renewed.  I took several deep breaths and felt the soothing calm overtake my being. I can do this. I can make it through this class, this day, this trial, this month, this year.

Since March 24, 2011, I have been scooting by.  I’ve barely been surviving, barely living.  I’m deciding today to start thriving.  I am not going to allow circumstances to take over my life any longer.  I am going to cry when I need to cry, to be real at all times.  I am going to do my best at everything t rather than the minimal in order to make it to bedtime.  I will no longer allow small things to govern my thoughts and actions, and I plan to live life to the fullest.

Hello, first day of spring.  I will allow my garden to bloom.  I will remove all the weeds and everything that has been frostbitten over this long two year winter and I will plant seeds once again. I want my garden to be fruitful, colorful, and radiant.  This spring will be a time for renewal, rebirth, and growth.  The outcome of this season’s garden will not dry up and wilt.

I am going to allow the faithful Gardener to care for my garden; I will allow Him to prune what needs to be pruned, to water what needs it the most, and to hold the key.  The success of this garden is solely up to me handing that key over and not trying to get it back.  Though, at times I may want to steal it back and try to tend to the garden myself, I will remember how I allowed that flowers to die and how I don’t know which branches to prune and which to keep.  I am truly no expert and it is really not my key to hold.  I will entrust my garden, my life, to the One who knows exactly what He is doing, and I will trust that His plan for me is good and for my benefit.

thoughts from lately

It seems so interesting to me that my blogs are all about venting, all about how I am a mess after losing my mother, all about how busy and chaotic my life is, and I usually try to add some quick encouraging note like “We are doing better!”  While it may be true that we are doing better, I feel guilty that my blogs always have such a deep, heavy, hurting theme and therefore I try to end with something uplifting. Here is something a little different, for a change.

I was talking to a friend recently about blogs and how most people have a theme for theirs.  I realized I am all over the place with mine and I have only posted a few times in the past two years.  This is bad, right? Well, my blog is like therapy to me.  It is a release and a place where I meet myself.  Sometimes I do not realize what I am feeling until I am typing it out.  Maybe this inconsistency and instability is why I only have three followers? 

In order for me to blog, I have to neglect something, whether that something is school, laundry, kids, my hubby, or whatever else is going on.  I have already written this small amount in about six different parts, tending to more than one call of “mommy” and also a “babe let’s eat”.

My life has been…well…full lately.  I am watching some extra munchkins to help with the needs of my family.  In order to do this, we had to purchase a 15 passenger van, and strangely, I like it. It is a beast to park, but the way that it fits my current needs is comforting.  We had a minivan in the past and in my vanity I hated it.  Raul thought that I would for sure be embarrassed to drive it, but I have grown to love it.  It already has a special place in my heart and one of the main features is that there are four rows in the backseat.  This means each one of my kids get their own row.  No more, “he hit me!” or, “she took my toy!”  When it is just my kids in the back of that van it is quiet and peaceful.  This is every driving mom’s dream. 

My daughter goes to the best school.  We are so blessed to be a part of the unique atmosphere, the excelling curriculum, and the high standards.  She is thriving there and brings home little pieces wisdom with her.  This week she has a memory verse that speaks right to where I need it most.  Proverbs 14:29, “Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays folly.” Not only does she have to memorize this verse this week, but I feel its imperative that I do as well.  With everything that is going on, with all the extra kids, with my husband gone for four days, I have been extremely impatient with my own children.  I have been so physically and emotionally exhausted that I have not loved them well for the past few weeks.  This verse was the perfect reminder that I need to be patient and stop being foolish.  Funny how God uses our kids to teach us about ourselves. 

As I mentioned previously, my husband was gone for four days.  I do not know how single moms do it, or how military moms do it.  I do not like sleeping alone but I don’t usually mind when he is gone.  I don’t have to cook, put makeup on, and can live in my pajamas.  But this time was different.  We have such a deep relationship lately that I felt like a piece of me was missing.  My partner, my best friend, my love, my other half was missing.  Missing him in the way that I did was a new feeling to me.  It wasn’t that the house was falling apart without an extra set of hands that was the problem, it was his absence, his presence that was needed.  I am in awe of the man, the warrior who came home to me.  There is something raw and rugged about who he is.  He has new passions, new drive, new loyalty, and fresh ambitions upon his return and I love it.  I am falling fiercely in love with this wild man that came home to me.