Temporary Yuck

I’ve procrastinated as much as possible this morning…putting off the time I dedicate to being still, hammering away at the keys as it often dredges up deep truths. Annoying, irritating, gritty truths.  I don’t have to count the days to know in my soul it’s that time of year…this time, three years ago, mom took a spiral decline and hours spent bedside simply were not enough. I know it’s that time…I don’t want to admit it, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to think about it.  Keeping my schedule tightly packed, mind full of distracting thoughts, busy little brain…but still it pulls, rises, tugs and plucks, needing to be acknowledged. I don’t want to identify with sadness…a thousand other daughters have lost their mothers.  My head is satisfied with her loss…she suffered, fought, and I know exactly where she is and that I’ll see her again.  That should bring me enough peace.  I’m neither happy, sad, or mad, but still those emotions rise. I’m flat, un-bubbly, care-less. I prefer bubbly, approachable, chatty, smiley…just not feeling it today.  Or yesterday.  There’s so much to do this time of year, so much cheerful possibility…I’m angry at the process…the temporary yuck.  

A Spectacular Day

When thoughts swirl, I typically sit down to write when the house is quiet and still. But everyone is home...off from Christmas break. Hubby greets me early to see how I'm doing...dry-eyed still, grateful that he remembered, too. One year ago today...1:45am...I shared unforgettable moments with my Mom as she took her final breath. One year of firsts behind us...the first Mother's Day, her first birthday, Christmas and New Years without hearing her voice. For weeks I've pondered ways to make January 2 spectacular...donations to a local charity that supports grieving children, donations to the Cancer society...both seemed so impersonal. Making her favorite meal, chicken casserole with potato chips but then I realized that was MY favorite meal she prepared on visits to Pepper Road. The releasing of memory balloons...bad for the environment. So here we are...January 2 with no stellar way to celebrate, as I hide out in the guest bedroom and begin to settle the spinning thoughts.

 

Tearfully rereading my first blog posts documenting her fade from this world....realizing words were present tense as she was still with us. Later posts refreshed memories of gently hummed hymns and soft spoken words. Other entries reflect the fierce desire to hold fast to my renewed intention of living...so afraid they would fade with the bustle of daily life and it was all for nothing...glad to realize I am still changed, still seeking a life of intention, surrounding myself with those that inspire me to be a better person and fluffing my nest with things that bring me joy. It's virtually impossible to cross paths with the phenomenal and not leave unchanged.

 

 

 

Like so often when I begin to journal, stark realization comes.  Much like when the Grinch realizes that Christmas comes without packages and

bows, the day means a little bit more all on it's own.  There's no need to fabricate activities to make January 2 spectacular...it already is. Simply remembering her, holding fast to her beliefs, her Faith, now my own Faith, will make this January 2, and every January 2 to follow, spectacular. I'll hug my children and hubby a little tighter today, giving myself the grace to shed a few tears. I'll be gentle with myself ....grateful I have a family that is gentle with me, as well. I can't imagine a better way to remember Linda Kay Elliott.  

Be Still

Entering a season of memories...Last Thanksgiving was the beginning of the spiral towards Jan 2. Stepping into the holiday realizing I purposely keep myself in motion so I won't have to think. Hosting 17 family members all with different social comfort and anxiety levels followed by a two week host and entertain stint with the in-laws...all good memories, all good distractions. Hands and mind so flurried that I didn't realize the loss until Dad crossed the threshold without her. Like U2 without Bono, the room seemed full and empty at the same time. I keep expecting her to appear...she was so unassuming...just quietly appearing...meek yet powerful.  No words to describe her. I sidled up beside Dad to reintroduce him to the crowd as he usually bee lines to my comfy corner chair and begins his nap. This time, he participated. My hand on his shoulder, I take a good long look at him...he has aged....maybe shrunk an inch or two...then I see it. Amidst my inner flurry, my soul still for a split second...enough to see the faintest quiver of his chin. He's struggling, too. He disappears upstairs, laying for a moment in Cole's bed, regrouping but saying it's his nerves from driving. He returns later to help with a puzzle and never heads for that comfy corner chair.

 

Days later, a 90^th birthday for Tim's grandmother...25 aunts, uncles, and cousins gathered to celebrate yet

her mind so loose from Alzheimers it seemed mildly overwhelming. It was nice to take a backseat to this festivity. More for us than for her....what stories that mind could once share. Now among faces she no longer recognizes, she appeases us thru dinner, opening of presents, and a few snapshots but is adamant about being ready to leave. Father-in-law leads his exhausted mother to the car as we offer our goodbyes. While others hug and offer final chats, I'm feeling led to follow Wayne as he places his mother onto the seat. She's cumbersome, sliding too far on the seat for the seatbelt to reach, he envelopes her to reach the belt, but her head nestles gently onto his shoulder. And then it happens... I am blessed with the most touching moment...he stops and lets her rest on him, cooing gentle words in her ear. The two of them are motionless for what seems a sweet eternity. Feeling like the luckiest girl in the lot, my eyes swelling with tears, the seatbelt snaps and the moment ends.

Realizing that I'm keeping myself busier than required to avoid deep thoughts...However, when I'm most still, I'm able to witness magical moments. Taking this first year of memories day by precious day...not wishing it away, being intentional with my time, my words, my memories. Having to constantly remind myself that when the flurry rises, I will be still.

Challenge - Mother's Day

This first week of May, counting down to Mother's Day, was filled with nervous expectation... similar to facing a massive cavity fill.  Knowing it would pinch, sear, ache but there was nothing you could do to stop it.  A year of first's then perhaps the ache would cease.  Saturday found me cheering on the sidelines in a day full of baseball games.  Not quite 100%... a little off.  Sitting in the glaring sun, no nearby trees, I spotted several Maple tree spinners spiral from the sky...gifts from Mom.  My family home has a massive Maple that drops ungodly amounts of seedlings, spinners, helicopters.  So
overwhelming and annoying.  Leaving so much to sweep that once, my Mom even attempted to vacuum them up.  It didn't fare so well for the vacuum.  I knew right away my little heaven sent spinners were a little inside joke. 

Mothers day came with an all day heaviness.  Head not even off pillow and tears falling.  Dear friends sent early texts checking on me, sending love.  Twenty-four hours of that forgetful belly-ache...as if I'd forgotten to call her then the sad realization that I no longer had that task. 

On a high note, Tim gave me the best distraction ever...tickets to see Prince that Mother's Day in Baltimore.  For the first time in months, I was excited, thrilled, cheering, smiling, I may or may not have even shed a few excited-fan-style tears of joy.  It was great evening.  I am truly blessed with a thoughtful hubby!

Four months have passed and I worry I'm sounding like a broken record...how much time is acceptable to grieve before friends and family have had enough?  When does the happy-guilt end?  This writing, it has become my therapy.  If I am helping anyone in this process it's myself...anyone else is simply a welcome ride-along. 

Challenge - Week 7 & 8

Week Seven into my challenge and I call a big, fat, giant redo! Backing up a little, there was certainly joy to be found...a full day getting to know a new friend and liking what I found. Pleased with myself that I stepped out of my comfort zone and made my own play date. The house is also certainly becoming more joy-filled...Tim is pleased that his basement is coming together and retaining it's testosterone. Challenge items checked.

The call for redo circled around my children this week. I found myself feeling like the red-headed step child (no offense to red-headed step children). Seemingly good things went unappreciated and like a sleepy toddler, I declared a end to all nice things...forever. As if. In hind sight, I realize doing nice things doesn't always generate the excitement you expect. Realistically, I have two elevated and amazing children and I should realize that bad days, or several bad days are par for the teenage course.

A secondary redo is called and retracted for the process of fluffing our nest. Eleven years of primer in our bedroom was finally refreshed with a calming coat of grey paint. The process required dresser drawers being removed, drop cloths laid, switch plates removed, heavy furniture moved from it's very fixed spot...One task requiring two or three additional steps...very 'If You Give A Mouse A Cookie' type of a process. Knee deep in Spring Cleaning needy furniture while Tim diligently painted. Waiting for the swan to emerge from the ugly and very dusty duckling. Walls finished and furniture replaced, I'm happy with our new space. Piles gone, dust removed, it's a sweet, love-filled place. Framing Tim's artwork to present a meaningful view versus a quickly bought massed-produced print. Another often passed room now features yellow curtains that spill butter colored light over a pair of rustic piggies that make me chuckle. I suppose with any new growth, some pains must occur. Accepting the pain and waiting patiently for the grand reveal.

 

Week Eight brought me far too much free time. Feeling like a spoiled-first-world-stay-at-home mom, but with too much free time comes waste. Finding days that are structured are more productive. By mid-week, I realized I needed a schedule. Something I can rely on to fill my days. Work out, devotions, time-structured cleaning (or else I'd clean all day or not at all), leaving time for errands, writing, volunteering, or an impromptu lunch.

Too much time also left excess space for thinking and dwelling. Easter was tough...her loss heavy in the meaningful songs during church service, while preparing a meal for the family, and resisting the urge to call her. Instead of dwelling, I sought out a space to volunteer. Hoping that helping others will redirect my pains. My problems aren't nearly as all-consuming and destructive as others. Choosing to spread the love instead of keeping it hidden under a depressed and broken basket.