Bittersweet

Dear Mama,

Do you remember when I was a teenager and I would wake you up in the middle of the night because I had a bad dream? They were so frequent back then. I remember dreaming about losing you, waking up scared, then waking you up and crying hysterically on your shoulder. You said you weren't going anywhere, mama.....You hugged me tight, kissed my cheek each time and assured me that you weren't going anywhere. But you did. Why did you leave me? I'm sorry. It's just been a weird couple of days. A contradictory couple of days. Great and horrible. Imprisoning and liberating. Happy and sad. I need you here to listen to me. You always understood me, even when I made no sense. Now, I don't even understand me.

I have created a Relay for Life team in your honor. "Team Shipley's", we call ourselves. I thought it might be easier to get donations with a recognizable name. Some thought it was too soon for me to dive into something like this. But, I think it's helping me. Granted, I have cried more since I became involved in it, than I have since you left. We had a bake sale at your old job. David's Grocery. Just saying the name makes me hear your voice saying it. I would call you at work during a busy moment and you would answer with an aggravated, panicky voice...Your tone would be slightly elevated: "David's Grocery!" I knew I better talk fast, when I heard this. Being there was so hard, Mama. I stopped going in there too much after you got sick. As much as I love the place, and as much as I feel that it is sentimental to our family, I just couldn't bare to walk in there as often as I once did. When I walked in, I kept expecting to see you behind the counter. But you weren't there. You were home sick. Or you were somewhere hooked up to a pump, with poison running through your veins. Poison that didn't save you, by the way. There was someone else behind the counter. On the counter was a jug with your picture. A picture of a healthy woman. A picture I couldn't bare to look at. There were people asking about you. They were concerned about your well being. They wanted you back behind that counter too. Their words usually brought me to tears. All that considered,I think the main reason I stopped frequenting the store, is because I knew you would never work there again. EVER. That was just too hard. You chose to work and raise kids. That store was half of your life. Now when I walk in, you are gone, the jug is gone and all that is left of you are the images burned into my mind. Images that were relentless throughout the two days of our bake sale. A couple people asked about you. They hadn't heard that you left. A couple people cried when they saw your picture. I was bombarded by memories. I envisioned you walking out the door in your little blue apron and standing in the parking lot by the paper machine while you complained to me about bickering coworkers. I would listen, and then we would hug and kiss, and I would be off to wherever. You would finish your work day. The smells, the scenery, the people, they all took me to a different time. A different Nikki was there, and she didn't know about your leaving. I had to tell her and she was absolutely devastated. I miss you. I miss you so much.

 The bake sale was very successful, and it feels great to know that we helped someone affected by Cancer- but I am still trying to recover from the explosion of emotions that being at the store brought about. They are quite overwhelming.

I got some old disposable cameras developed and I picked up the pictures tonight. I couldn't wait to look at them. When I pulled the first one out, it was a picture of me and you. You were beautiful. You were plump and healthy looking. I was young and clueless to what the near future held for me. No bad dream could prepare me for what was to come. As I looked, I wanted you back so badly, just as you were in those pictures. Less than an hour later, Michael found me sitting in a small space between the bed and a wall crying hysterically. I had leaned down to pick something up, but instead, I sat down on the floor. I sat there for a while thinking about you. I don't know why. The store. The pictures. The relay. It all just hit me like a ton of bricks and I started crying. I just sat there in that little space crying aloud and thinking of you until he came in there and found me. He leaned down and put his hand on my shoulder. A simple gesture, but it calmed me down a little. I just kept saying "I just want to talk to her. That's all." He remained quiet. What could he say? The baby then began to cry, so I had to get up. I knew that I needed to anyway.

I just keep thinking this is going to get easier. I keep waiting to adjust or harden or something....Anything.... But, I am starting to lose hope for that to actually happen. This is life, now. I wish I could wake up and get that reassurance from you that I once did...."I'm here baby. I'm not going anywhere." But I can't wake up. This is not a bad dream in the literal sense, but I have to tell you mama, it truly is a nightmare.

I love you so much with all of my broken heart.....

Love,

Nikki

PS.
I included some pictures:

Here are your three favorite girls....

Your grave was sinking and settling. So I called Amber and we devised a plan.....

We got the kids to help us haul dirt......

And dump it.......They had fun doing it, and it really did help us out.

They were really tired afterwards. I think we got it looking a little better.

It was important that I had your picture there. Ms. Sharon reminded me that YOU were there, in addition to your picture.....I believe so, too. I felt you.

Michael told his crew to ask EVERY customer that came in if they would like to donate to the American Cancer Society. They have now sold around 400 of these Relay feet....

Here are those old photos....You look gorgeous...

Funny how time flies.

I miss you mama.

Never Said It Was Gonna Be Easy.....

Dear Mama,

I would ask, but I already know that things are going good for you. Not good, great. Not great, heavenly. While I am happy that you are no longer sick, I can't help but feel sorry for myself. I miss you. I mean, really, really miss you. I feel as though there is a knife in my chest, and I am walking around with a constant ache. How long will it be before I bleed out? This pain is so intense and relentless. I cannot believe how drastically life has changed. You know, I think about life last year at this time. Me, you, Neva and Nori, going everywhere and getting into everything. We were always together. You had that nagging "cold", that wouldn't let up. You also had that annoying low grade fever, that drug you down a lot. I'm sorry mama. I am sorry I was so caught up in life that I didn't press it:"WHY is she running fever? WHY can't she get well, Dr.?" Why didn't I demand an xray sooner? I should have. If we had caught this when it was just in ONE lung, who knows? But I didn't press it. I will never know what might have happened if I did. Do you think I am selfish? Now that you see all things, are you mad at me? I shouldn't have dismissed your cough. You coughed all the time---a true trait of a smoker. But I KNEW it was different. I knew it. Why did I dismiss it? I was actually annoyed by your coughing spells, not alarmed by them. Do you think I am a bad person? I sometimes do. I could sniffle a little and you were all over me. But all the signs were there for me to see that something was very, very wrong with you--and I didn't read them. I ignored them. Do you blame me for anything, mama? I am sorry. I am so sorry. I would give anything to have you here with me. Though I know I am not, I feel so alone without you. I find myself frustrated with loved ones for various reasons, but I sometimes wonder if that frustration is really for them, or for myself...or for the cancer....or for you...I am sorry I said that. I don't blame you for anything. I am just lost now. So lost. Though I am holding it together and involving myself in various things to keep busy, there is no getting around the fact that I am lost.

Yesterday, Me and the girls were going to meet Amber and the boys for lunch. When Amber rode through the parking lot in your old black car, Neva squealed in excitement "GAMMY!!!!". Then, almost immediately her bottom lip dropped, began to tremble and she teared up. It is the first time I have seen her cry about your absence. I have never felt a sting of pain that remotely compared to what I felt in that moment. I took her into my arms. She laid her sweet little head on my shoulder. Her hyperness had vanished and been replaced momentarily by sadness. "You forgot, didn't you baby?" I asked with tears in my eyes. She just shook her head. Then later she asked "when the angels get through making Gammy well, can she come back home?" Then I had to explain to her that you were never coming home......"NEVER"......What an abstract word for a 3 year old to comprehend. It is actually too abstract for this 29 year old to grasp. I actually force myself to think of something else, when the gravity of the word "NEVER" pops into my head. It is just too hard to think about. It is too hard to think that you will never grace this world with your presence again. I will never come see you at work. I will never come pick you up for an outing. I will never watch you cook in your kitchen. We can never have a sleep over when Michael is at the deer camp. I can never watch you roll around on the floor with my three giggling girls. I can never see your beautiful smile as it forms on your face, ever again. NEVER.  I just can't take the thought....

Last night, Neva asked a question that sent chills down my spine...."mama, are you gonna get old and sick like Gammy and never come back?" And thus the cycle begins. My fear of losing you started at such an early age, I can barely remember not having it. Why? WHY is my three year old asking me that? and how do I answer it? Can I, in good conscience, assure her that I am not going anywhere, when recent events have proven that YOU NEVER know when your time is up? How can I make that promise? I just told her not to worry about that. I told her to stop thinking about it. Then I changed the subject. I don't want her to be like me. I don't want her to waste precious time worrying about things that she cannot change. My heart (whats left in tact) finished breaking into a million pieces in that moment. You always told me that I wasted too much time worrying. I know I did, and still do. Just like now, worrying that I didn't do enough for you...That I could have been better and more attentive, some how, some way.....How could I expect any different out of Neva? I am modeling this behavior for her.....I know that I need to change, before I curse her and the other two with this horrible trait. I will try, my absolute best--I promise mama.

I often feel that I cannot exist one more minute without you. NOT ONE.....Then I look at my beautiful daughters and know I HAVE to. I absolutely have to. And, I can't just "exist", I have to LIVE. Then I remember all those inspiring and beautiful things you said to me over the years. One of your most prescious quotes that swirls in my mind at all times is "Enjoy this time". You said it a couple weeks before you left. I now know what you meant, mama. Enjoy this time, because it is so limited and flies by so quickly. Enjoy this time. I feel that it is possible. Not easy without you, but possible.

I need you mama. I need you so much.

I love you with all my heart.....Bushell and a peck, hug around the neck.

Love,
Nikki

New Endeavors

Dear Mama,

Something incredible happened today! I couldn't wait to tell you all about it.

First of all, you should know that I had ANOTHER dream about you last night. It was wonderful. We hugged and kissed so many times. I really felt you. I love those kinds of dreams. I awake to the feeling that I have actually seen you. We were talking about all kinds of stuff. I don't know why, but you appeared to be mad at Josh about something. Just before you left in your little bug, you stuck your forehead to mine. we have done this so many times in the past. We sat there for a second with our heads touching, then we both busted out laughing. You told me you loved me, then got in your car and left for the coast. Even in my dream, I was worried about you driving alone, just as I have in real life as far back as I can remember. It's pretty incredible that I am dreaming about you so much, I usually awake happier than when I fell asleep.

Jamina called me later in the day and told me about a Relay For Life Team Captain meeting. I have been wanting to get involved, and when she called my heart told me that now is the time. Your passing is still fresh and heavy on my heart, but my desire to make a difference is equally as prevalent. Jamina too, has been wanting to get involved for a while now. Who knows what ever holds any of us back when it comes to lending a helping hand. I can find a million excuses to sit it out, but when I think of all you went through, all that WE went through, I am itching to play even a small role in preventing someone else from experiencing that. The meeting was interesting and confusing. Having never participated in anything like this, I was kind of lost. Luckily, everyone was really nice and broke it down in simple terms for me. One person even stayed after the meeting and started from square 1, Why even have a Relay for Life? I understand now that this event is to honor survivors and fallen fighters (like you, mama) as well as their families. The added benefit, is that money is raised to help patients, families and fund research. Knowing that without the community's generosity, you would not have been able to afford your living expenses after the cancer took your ability to work--how can I NOT want to lend a helping hand to "pay it forward"? You would have loved the people in this room, mom. I teared up a couple times, because I wished that you were sitting beside me. I longed to see you stand up in front of that group and share your survivor story, and talk about your hopes for our team. I glanced around the room. I didn't know all their stories, but I felt linked to each person there. Each friendly face disguised a horrible a cancer story similar to ours. I looked back down at the floor, where Neva and Nori were crawling around. Neva couldn't stop playing with one woman's feet. In Neva's defense, the lady's toenails were painted beautifully and her sandals were a pretty bright shade of yellow. To a kid, that's pretty enticing, I guess. But I wondered, can I make a difference with my kids in tow? I mean, I am rarely without them. Can I really do enough to matter? Then I thought about you......You're no celebrity. You're just a woman that stood on her feet working over 40 hrs a week serving her community, to support your kids and household. You greeted customers and talked to them like friends. They were your friends. Then, when we needed a friend, they were all there for us. A small gesture on your part, lead to a HUGE reward. So, in applying that same concept to this situation: A little effort and care can go a long way. If what our small team can accomplish, will help even one family going through a cancer situation, then we have accomplished something huge. I am very excited about this new endeavor.

The girls know that we are trying to find a cure for cancer. They asked me if we found it, could you come back. Oh, how I wish that were the case, mama. If only I could hold you somewhere other than my dreams. I need you now, more than ever.

You fought so hard against this enemy. Now it's my turn.


Love you and Miss you more than words can express,

Nikki

A Mother's Work Is Never Done

Dear Mama,

In the few hours that I actually slept last night, I had a dream. You were there (in your green hoody!) and we were talking. I was telling you I missed you. We hugged so many times. I just kept grabbing you and squeezing you. It was wonderful because I really felt it. In my dream, it was though you had just been gone for a while. Your passing was never mentioned. The last thing I remember, is my asking you a question...."What do I do now, mama?" I was crying. I awoke before I heard your response. I was thankful for the dream, because I have longed to hug you so badly. But, I couldn't help but feel sad that I never heard your answer.

Yesterday marked the one month anniversary of your arrival in Heaven. To the untrained eye, everything is going good. I finally got that mountain of laundry folded that had been growing since you were diagnosed all those months ago. I rearranged the girls' room, cleaned out every one's closet, and have been working in the yard a little. I haven't got back into cooking EVERY single night, yet.....We have been donating a good bit of money to the local dairy bar. But, I am doing better.

Neva is doing GREAT at her gymnastics! I mean absolutely fantastic. She has took to it as good, or better than she did back when you were able to come watch her. Her coach is strict and knowledgeable. I like it, because Neva really needs structure right now. She does better (behavior wise) when there is a schedule, routine and firm set of rules in place--you know that. She is beautiful mama. She misses you SO much. Just this morning, they were asking why we couldn't go to Heaven and see you. "'Cause it's not our time yet", I informed. "Why?" Nori asked so innocently. She followed quickly with her second question "Why is it Gammy's time?" See, she (once again) is following Neva's example and going through the "Why? Why?Why?" stage.  It is unnerving sometimes, but when it's about you, it is just unbearable. Neva is constantly asking about you. I know I have to answer her. I try and find a truthful, yet age appropriate response....But it's hard to do.

Nori, my little "sweet heart" has developed an attitude out of this world. I mean, my goodness! She is something else. Funny how the "terrible two's" can turn a perfectly good little kid into a monster!!! She throws herself down, she hits her sister, screams to the top of her lungs and tries me every second of the day. She is gorgeous, but that little mischievous smile keeps you on the edge of your seat. You always wonder whats coming next. Her potty training is going great. Very seldom does she have any accidents. She also has such sweet moments. Lots of hugs and kisses. She is a mama's baby and I love every second of it.

Those two girls, they keep me going. DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT, let the two of them out of your sight! Someone is going to strip down, jump off of something, or tear something apart...And it only takes a split second. Last week, they were playing rough and I thought Nori's arm was broken! It was just a sprain, but I cried the whole time. I just kept wishing you were with me, or could at least talk me through it.  Then, the other day, they stopped up the sink and flooded the bathroom. Quit laughing, mama. It's not funny. Ok, maybe a little. I do remember a certain teenage girl on the phone with a friend. She forgot her bath water was running and flooded your bathroom and hall as well.....Oh how you yelled at me!!! You definitely wished this on me....Why mama?, WHY?!?!

On a lighter note, little Mili is absolutely precious. I argued you up and down about her looks. I swore she looked like Michael. Nothing like us, really at all. "She's pretty like her Gammy. She looks just like me." you would tease. And you know what? You were right. She is eat up with you sometimes. She is a total sweet heart. She and I have bonded on a very deep level. Now I get yours and Josh's relationship a little better. There is something about your youngest. They pull at your heart strings. Late at night, when my thoughts keep me awake, I talk to Mili. We talk about you. She loves you, mama. She misses you, just like I do.

We are doing learning activities again. Nori refuses to learn her colors. She is super smart, so sometimes I get the feeling that she's messing with me. Sometimes she cooperates and other times she seemingly deliberately says the wrong answer. She recognizes some shapes, knows her alphabet (sort of) and can (sometimes) count to 10! Of course, she won't perform this in front of anybody, so I can't really brag too much--it appears that I'm lying. With Neva, we are working writing, cutting, and a few site words. She knows her colors and numbers in English and Spanish. When I try to "show her off", she make weird noises and talks baby talk. You know how they are. What can you do?

 These little girls sure have kept me distracted through this whole thing. Without them, I don't know where I would be.

Yeah, mama, like I said, to any outsider, it would appear that everything is going good. But you know better. All this other stuff is serving as somewhat of a distraction. I am heart broken. I am lost and lonely. I am just now realizing that you are never coming back. I think I had fooled myself into thinking that this pain and sadness is temporary. But with each passing day, it becomes more evident that this is FOREVER. I have got to tell you, I am just devastated. I TRY not to cry too much in front of the kids, but I cry alot at night when everyone is asleep. Sometimes, I cry so hard that I bust blood vessels in my face and eyes.

Sometimes the image of you is so strong in my mind and other times I punish myself for not being able to vividly remember certain things. I will sit and dwell on something, like a story you told or the sound of your laugh. If I can't reproduce it exactly in my mind, I become upset. Today in church, as I walked down the aisles looking for a seat, I caught myself looking for the back of your head. I was looking to see if you had my seat saved, as you used to. I saw your little frame so vividly in my mind. I cried through the entire sermon. I kept looking down at my hand, and remembering how you would reach over and grab it and hold it the whole time. I remember glancing at you in the seat next to me and you catching me, smiling warmly, then looking back at Br. Robby. These visions kept popping into my mind....They were relentless, and I found it impossible to stop my tears.

I still think of you, mama, every time the kids say something funny or do something crazy. Used to, yours was the first number I would call to report any new Neva/Nori/Mili news. Now, your number is disconnected. I call it frequently, hoping that this is all a nightmare. I dream of your sweet little "hello" greeting me on the other end. I fantasize about this all being one of my crazy bad dreams and you are actually alive and well, finishing up your shift at David's. When you get off, the girls and I will meet you and we will all spend the day together. You will laugh and play with them. They will not have to ask sadly where you are or why you are there, because they will be in your arms. You will push them in the swings and kiss them until they giggle. You and I will hug and laugh and talk about everything. A beautiful day. LOTS of beautiful days to follow. Why is it just a fantasy? Why mama?

The boys are.....okay... I mean, they are like me. We are ok, but not really. They have thrown themselves into their work. We all talk daily and get together atleast once a week.We had supper together today. We all played in the yard, since the day was so beautiful. You would love this weather. It was hard to focus with you weighing so heavily on my heart and mind today. But I tried, for the girls. 

Josh raced with the kids...He's just a big kid anyway....

Ronnie and Mili....She pooped on him. It was wonderful. Now, if I could just teach her to do it on command....

You'd be proud mom. Daddy has been visiting a pretty good bit lately. The kids really like playing with him, especially Neva.

With all the adult supervision, I decided to duck out for a rare alone moment. I had a special place I wanted to visit....

I hope you like your flowers, mama. I know me and you are not "flower people", but I thought you might like these.

I talk to you often in the shower, in the car, in my house, in my head, everywhere!

 I know you're not really there, but I feel less crazy talking to you aloud, when I am sitting next to your grave.

   I sat and talked to you for a while today in your pretty little spot. This location is so peaceful and sweet. Sometimes the kids run and play. But not today. Today, it was just me and you. I cried as I told you all my thoughts. I asked you a question just before I left, and I think spending the day with everyone showed me your answer.

I asked: "what do I do now, mama?"

You showed me: "You live, baby. You live."

I'm trying mama, I'm trying. I will never stop trying....I promise.

Thank you for the advice, like always. I love you with all of my heart. I miss you.

I will write again soon,

Nikki

                             

P.O. Box Heaven

Dear Mama,

After you left that morning, I barely cried. I mean, I did....But not enough. Not what I pictured myself doing. You know better than anyone how much time I spent dreading and envisioning that moment. After the boys and I pulled the sheet over your old vessel, and left the room, we started making phone calls. After Hospice, the first person I called was your big sister, Punkin. I had phoned her moments earlier to tell her about the change in your breathing. The second phone call was short, "Punk, mom's gone to be with Mamaw and Papaw". She was quiet. I knew she was hurting. But her reaction was silence. Then I called Sharon. I told her the same thing, that you had joined her parents in Heaven. Your baby sister was a little more verbal with her feelings. She began to cry and said "no, no." My heart broke for her, but my tears were hesitant. Then she said "y'all were there by yourself?!?!" She seemed upset at the thought. I assured her that we were fine. Then I told her how wonderful you did as you left. I then called Michael. Michael's voice is alot like yours. The sound of it brings out any hidden emotion in me. I began to cry a bit while on the phone with him. He was upset as well. I don't think any of us really realized how quickly this would go. I mean, days earlier you were talking to us. Now, we were informing everyone of your passing. We knew, but we didn't know. The nurse came in and like a total professional, she handled everything. I was quiet. So were the boys. It was very surreal. There wasn't alot of crying or talking or anything. No visitors yet. No you. Just us and our thoughts.  Michael showed up a while later, and was there to help me through the shock of a hearse backing up to your door. Two men in suits shook my hand, then walked down your hall into your bedroom. Soon they came back out, with what I visually recognize as you under a blanket on a stretcher. I cried again as they put your body in the back of the car. The next few hours were filled with errands and small tasks. I know you handled most everything, but we had to tie up loose ends at the funeral home. Then, we had to go order flowers to adorn the casket. Food and goodies flooded in. How could we expect any different? These people were wonderful to you through your illness. They were wonderful to us through your passing. Without the distraction of all the visitors, their kind words, gifts and gestures, I think it all would have hit us alot harder. Thank you for setting everything up, where Ronnie, Josh and I didn't have to do much. I have never done anything like that before, and quite frankly didn't know where to start. Br. Robby came to see us, and walked me through some of the steps. I was quite numb. I was hurting, very badly actually, but at the same time I was emotionless. Josh was fine, kind of like me. Ronnie said that we were in shock, and it was going to hit us later. He, was the most emotional of the three of us. I did what you asked, and stayed close to them through the hours following your death. As we sat in your house, I kept forgetting that you were not in your room sleeping. You slept ALOT just before you left. It was easy to forget that you were not back there snoozing away.

I went home late that night. Though I was exhausted, I had a tough time sleeping. When I finally dozed off, I felt you holding my hand. Thank you for that. I love you for keeping your word. You said you would find a way to let me know you were okay, and you did. I slept pretty good after that. The next morning, the kids made you some artwork to hang on your casket. It was hard, but I know how much you love it. They were confused. I know you would have wanted them there at the funeral home, but I didn't let them come, because I was scared they would see me fall apart. After all, I had held it together so well, I just knew there was a storm of emotions on the horizon. With Mili just 2 weeks old, I shuttered at the larger image staring back at me in the mirror. As if things are not hard enough, I have to get dressed up and see people looking horrible and 30 lbs heavier. I know, I know....Nobody cared. But still, it was one more thing to feel depressed about.

When we arrived at the funeral home and walked in, it was as pretty as I remembered. We sat and awaited the rest of the family to arrive, so we could view the slide show. As it aired, there were sobs and sniffles throughout the room. I was ok, until the very end, where Ronnie had included a little video of you holding Mili and smiling. I began to cry aloud at the sight of your beautiful smile. I miss that smile. I miss you.

 After the video, it was time for us to walk in the parlor where your body was waiting. I didn't really want an open casket. I didn't want to see some weird version of what you used to look like. But Josh did want it open. So I had been dreading this moment. Brother Robby prayed before the funeral director slid the doors open and we walked in. I stared at the floor repeating "I can't, I can't, I can't". I was so scared of what I would see. Michael held my hand and said "You can do this". When I looked up at your old home, it was beautiful. The three of us stood together and took it all in. We didn't cry. Not hysterically like I envisioned. I knew that you were not in that body anymore. It was obvious that the warm and compassionate person that used to dwell there was gone some where else. I smiled at the thought of where you were. The boys helped me put on the bracelets that you always wore, because I was shaking too bad to do it myself. I think you would have liked the dress and scarf that I picked out for you. Though Ronnie said we should have used that old green hoody and neon crocheted toboggan that you wore ALL the time instead. You probably would have preferred his idea.

The turnout for the visitation and the funeral was amazing. As I greeted friendly, familiar and teary eyed faces, I remained almost totally emotionless. Every now and then, a face or hug or something  would ignite a crying session. The David's Grocery crew got me the worst, I think. But mostly I consoled others, as my heart was broken, yet numb. Ronnie and Josh did great. They looked so handsome. They clean up well. They really held it together. Your sisters did good. Ricky too. Daddy had a tough time. Of course, there is a history there that only you and him could know. His tears hurt me, though I didn't really know how to console him.

The day of the funeral, there were three singers. I told you I was going to get you three! They all did a wonderful job. It was obvious that Br. Robby was really listening to you as you talked about our family during all those visits. His words were hear felt and beautiful. I dreaded the graveside service. I really did. But it wasn't that bad. I felt like I needed to walk up to each person there (there was ALOT) and tell them thank you for being there, but I didn't have it in me. I asked Michael if I seemed awkward, because I felt awkwardly quiet. He assured me that everyone understood. After the final prayer, I headed for the car. I was fine until I saw my sister in law, Jamina. I don't know why, but her hug made me cry the hardest I had through the whole process. We went back to your house, well, Ronnie's house, after the service.

Me and Michael spent the night of the funeral, in your room. Josh and Amber slept on the sofa bed. The boys slept on a pallet and my girls were in my old room. I know you were worried about passing in the house. You were worried it would be hard on us, or weird for us, especially Ronnie, living there....Well, it's not. There's nothing "creepy" about the room or the house. It's just sad, because we don't hear your laugh echoing down the hall anymore. Each room is filled with you. But, for me, it's everywhere I go, not just your house.

I haven't had a huge breakdown, like I thought I would. I don't know if I really was "in shock", or if I was at peace with your passing. Though there has been nothing super dramatic, I have hurt the worst since the funeral ended. Each day has been more difficult than the last. I cry every day. EVERY day. The girls ask about you every day. Neva wanted us to come to Heaven and see you. She asks "does Gammy have a bed in Heaven?", "Does Gammy have lunch in Heaven?", "Is there soup in Heaven?", oh, it is endless. She misses you. She worries about you, just like I used to. Nori asks about you the most. She cannot wrap her sweet little mind around your absence. However, neither can I, really.

The boys, Amber and I have been talking every day. We have had Sunday supper every Sunday since you left. That first one was rough. We are going to try and keep it going, like you wanted. I did "the thing". You know, when things don't go my way, and I hoard up in the house and stop taking calls and keep to myself. I only took calls from Ronnie and Josh for several days. Luckily, there have been a few persistent friends that are staying on top of me. Amber drug me and the girls off to the zoo last week. I thought of you. Last year, YOU were with me when we spent that blistering hot day walking around the zoo. I also got Neva back in gymnastics. I was so impressed with her new teacher, I couldn't wait to tell you. I put the girls in their car seats, jumped behind the wheel and excitedly grabbed my cell phone. Then it hit me. I don't do it often, but when I forget your gone, it's horrible. Because I have to remember all over again. This is hard, mama. Harder than I could have imagined. But I am trying, and I think you would be proud of me. Of all of us.

I stopped blogging. It didn't feel right without you reading. Then the other day it suddenly hit me, that you can still read the posts, you just can't call me afterwards to comment. I couldn't wait to get a minute to catch you up on everything that's been going on. Though, I know, you actually already know it all.

We tried hard to get everything on your wish list done before you left. There were a couple things lacking, but for the most part we got it. I wish you had been able to drive your little car more. You wanted a beetle your whole life. You looked so cute in it too. I'm glad we found one we could afford, because the boys and I really wanted that dream to become a reality for you. I just wish you had more time to enjoy it. You also got to see the mountains. You saw the mountains, but I saw YOU. I have never seen an adult so in awe of something. It was priceless. We tried hard to make your last months good ones. We wanted the person who gave all of her life to serving others, to see some of her dreams come true. I hope we made you happy. I feel like we did.

I'm proud of you mama. You did so good through everything. You prepared us the best you could for what was coming. I think that is why we have all handled it so well. You fought so hard. You didn't stop, even though some of your treatments made day to day life a living hell. Until the moment you were told "there is a 90% chance that NO other medicine will work", you NEVER stopped fighting. Not just fighting, you never stopped LIVING. It would have been easy to climb in bed and sleep away your pains and fears. But you stood tall and faced them like a champion EVERY DAY for 10 months. I really couldn't be prouder. You should be proud of yourself, too.

Well, I know this is turning into a novel, and I know how your attention span is. I just wanted to tell you that I love you....Oh my goodness, I love you....So much that it hurts. I miss you so much. I wish so badly that you could wrap your arms around me and tell me "everything is gonna be alright"....Oh how I long to hear your voice. I miss you. I miss "us". You and me, we had something special. But YOU....You were good......You had that magical ability to make ALL of us feel like we were your favorite. I guess all mamas do that. You were just particularly great at it.

I love you...

All my heart.....

Bushell and a peck....

Hug around the neck.....


See you later,

Nikki