Does It Get Any Better?

Perhaps this will happen every year as the anniversary of Mom's passing approaches. And on Christmas. And her birthday. And Easter. And Halloween. And my birthday. And the kid's birthdays. And every other day of any significance at all. Perhaps I will have a mini-breakdown each time. In two days, it will officially be two years since I laid eyes on my mom. And a bit longer since I had a  conversation with her. My heart hurts like it was yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Healthy or not, I try to block out a lot of the bad stuff that happened in the end. But sometimes, like tonight, it comes flooding into my mind and my heart and I struggle to fight the tears. And ultimately I lose. I've been asked a few times, by folks who have experienced a loss more recent than mine, "does it get any better?".  After almost two years, I just dried the tears on my cheeks, because I made the mistake of looking at some old pictures. I've got to tell ya....I just don't know an honest answer to that question.


There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her. Not one. But with the distractions that day to day life brings and having 4 kids to keep me running from school to gymnastics to soccer, I don't cry nearly as much as I did in the beginning. Actually, I don't cry that much at all. That sting in my heart is most of the time non existent. Although I have noticed that, still, when I do something for the first time, or first few times, since she has been gone, the sting is alive and well. Like going to David's Grocery. It is the place where I went to see mom most everyday of the week at one point. I don't live close to Davids and since she has been gone my visits have been very few and far between. Going in there absolutely kills me. I love the place like an old friend or a sweet family member. But walking in that door dredges up some tough stuff that sends a debilitating ache right through me. The drive to Taylorsville is another thing. Most every week mom and I (and eventually the kids too) would make that trip. Every tree, house, sign, and anything else along the way is a reminder of all those countless rides to see Papaw and the aunts. I recently made the trip for only the third or fourth time since she has been gone. It was borderline impossible to keep my focus on the road as my mind tried to wander to a brighter day with her in the passenger seat. I know it will make me sound crazy, but sometimes I let myself get there on purpose. I mean, if everything falls into place just so, I get that feeling. That old feeling of her being here and everything being ok. It's kind of like I trick myself into forgetting she is gone. Sometimes, turning down her road can get me there...I can make that turn and if I'm lucky, I forget and all of a sudden I'm about to drive up and see her on the porch. It's a bit of a high that I love to indulge in from time to time. Coming down is fast and hard and torturous. But I get to feel her for just a second, and it's totally worth it. That feeling is getting harder and harder to come by, as her absence is becoming more and more the norm. Ah her absence. It's thick and heavy and deafening. It's too much sometimes. Like the stark silence that makes you hear the maddening and relentless ringing in your ears. Sometimes in my moments of over analytical craze, I wonder if she was ever even here. Did I just imagine this sweet and precious person? Did she really exist? It feels so long since I saw her and really felt her, it's hard to believe that she was ever actually here and was a huge part of my definition in life. That she was here and was my absolute best friend in the world. That we talked several times everyday. That we argued and gave each other the silent treatment and then made up. That we went shopping and giggled and just loved. Was it real? Then I remind myself, no extent of the wildest imagination could create the sheer beauty that was the bond between me and my mom. And there it is, the sting again. The sting, but wrapped in gratitude.


I don't know about you, but I don't want the sting to ever fully go away. To numb my feelings is to remove love from my life. And what is life without love? I want to always remember her. I want to always feel her in my heart, even if it hurts. I want to see in her the beauty that God gives my eyes to fall upon each day. Unfortunately, hanging on to these luxuries will always be accompanied by some amount of pain. The truth is, (and I'm trying to even convince myself of this as I type), it does get better. Things get a little easier. The sting subsides with time and only rears it's ugly head to remind us that we had something really incredible in this life. I assume the triggers for this will lessen more and more as each day passes. The sights, and smells and sounds that bring on vivid daydream type memories will eventually just give us a feeling of warmth and perhaps a twinge of sadness, but ultimately forge a smile on our face because we know how blessed we are to have such precious memories in the first place. If only for a limited amount of time, we had them. I had her.




How much better can it get?

Valentine's Day Shmalentine's Day

You know, I never had a boyfriend on the most romantic of days, until my Michael came along. I kind of thought to myself " it's just another day". And that helped me cope with seeing all my girlfriends receiving their balloons and flowers and goodies. But the allure of the pink and red that adorned all the stores always tugged at my heartstrings. I remember when I was older, sending my mom flowers or picking her up some chocolates. Once, I remember getting her a new vacuum (yeah, not so sure about the thought process behind that one). Anyway, as far back as I can remember Mom would get us a tiny little box of chocolates. She was my only valentine. Then about 12 years ago,  Michael and I  spent our very first Valentine's day together.


We had only been dating a couple weeks, and this whole thing was very new to me. I knew we weren't serious enough for an "I love you" balloon or stuffed animal, because I still felt very nervous around him and the awkwardness of our dates and phone conversations proved that he felt the same. Desperate, I called his sister, whom I had barely ever spoken to, to give me some advice. She told me that Michael was a huge fan of eagles. Not the band. The actual bird. And that he had a little collection (yes, kind of like an old lady) of ceramic ones. You would think finding out my masculine suitor had a collection of knickknacks would send me in the opposite direction. But, I just thought it was precious and it made me like him a little more. And, with this new information, I had finally decided what to get him. He showed up at my mom's and he looked SOOOOO cute. I was very nervous, and my stomach was fluttering away. For some reason, my mom and my best friend Jennifer watched intently (adding to the weirdness) as I gave him the coolest looking ceramic eagle with a little clock nestled between his body and the branch where he rested. Then Michael gave me red flowers and a pink box of chocolates. My very first REAL valentine gift. It was very obvious that mine wasn't the only stomach with butterflies. We told our spectators goodbye, and we went to meet his sister and my cousin (they were dating at the time) for supper. We held hands on the way. Then after our meal, we headed home. He was my valentine, and I was his. It was sweet. Simple. Memorable.


Millions of more comfortable conversations and sweet kisses and warm hugs and giggles and a prom and 2 graduations and countless arguments and a wedding and job changes and 4 pregnancies and weight gain and burnt suppers and pretty good suppers and more weight gain and stretch marks and the end of all shaving, and tshirts forging their way into dressy attire, and the purchase of the coolest minivan ever, and  a lil more weight gain, and a million more conversations, and sweet kisses and warm hugs, and giggles later, we are still, very much, each other's valentines.


Last night, after receiving an invitation via text message that read like this:


You.
Me.
Loredo.
NO KIDS!


I smiled to myself and giddily tried to find something to wear that made me look less mom-ish. But considering I haven't lost enough weight to come out of my maternity wear, this proved a bit difficult. We dumped the kids like a bad habit and took off in his truck to Loredo Grill. I couldn't help but notice that he looked SOOOO cute. On the way, we had the greatest uninterrupted (and comfortable) conversation about everything and nothing. And we held hands. Then in the parking lot, before walking in, we shared a sweet kiss without the eyes of laughing little ones burning our cheeks. Over chips and salsa, the giggles were abundant as we share the same odd and sometimes demented sense of humor. And before picking up our little ones, headed up the steps to my inlaw's house, we shared a familiar warm hug. We still got it.


Feeling more in love than ever as our night came to a close,  I couldn't help but think, "It's just another day".