Today.

August 7, 2010

59 years ago on this day, Phil's mom was born.

16 years ago on this day, Phil and I met in a traffic jam and shared our first kiss.

2 months ago on this day, my mom died.

There just doesn't seem like there's a whole lot for me to say today. I've been rejoicing and giving thanks for my husband and our life and crying and grieving the loss of mom.

It's always both at the same time for me. Living and Dying. Beautiful and Ugly. Right and Wrong. Always in the middle of an intersection of good and bad.

Ticking off the Time

So.

It's been a month since this.

And I don't know what to say.

Because it doesn't feel real yet.

Feeble Prayers

Scattered words and empty thoughts

Seem to pour from my heart

Even when people I love commit suicide

I Still Believe.

I've never felt so torn before

Seems i dont know where to start

Even when best friends die of breast cancer

I Still Believe.

But its now I feel your grace fall like rain

From every fingertip washing away my pain

When grandmas find their youngest sons, dead by their own hand...when those grandmas slip into dementia and mini-strokes overtake them, even when special grandmas die

I Still Believe.

Though the questions still fog up my mind

With promises I still seem to bear

When moms have brain tumors and lymphoma and when prognosis looks good and things are hopeful hopeful. Even then, when she dies anyway

I Still Believe.

Even when answers slowly unwind

It's my heart I see you prepare

When friends...people who call themselves friends, kick me while I'm down and knowingly inflict unbearable pain

I Still Believe.

But its now that I feel your grace fall like rain

From every fingertip washing away my pain

When I run away from home because I'm too pissed off to be around "friends"

I Still Believe.

The only place I can go is into your arms

Where I throw to you my feeble prayers

When You say in no uncertain terms, "Go back to your friend. Put up with her abuse." I understand you are Jehovah Roi, the God Who Sees Me

I Still Believe.

In brokenness I can see that this is your will for me

Help me to know you are near

When I submit to Your authority and go back--and I hit a fawn still new with spots and it flies in the air and smashes down on the top of my car and I see it hit the road in the rearview mirror. Even when I see it's mama right behind it. Even when the pain is too great to bear and I can't see through my tears

I Still Believe.

I still believe in your faithfulness

I still believe in your truth

I still believe in Your Holy Word

Even when I don't see

I Still Believe.

Archives

It doesn't feel right to post again now. To move the last post down the list and eventually into the archives. Because then it feels like I'm moving mom into the archives. Along with Uncle Ed, Jill, and grandma.

It doesn't feel right that her place should be amongst them. But it didn't feel right when they first passed either.

It is foggy in my head now. I can't see or focus on anything in particular. I'm trying to ease back into things in such a way that will not overwhelm, but I'm such an all or nothing kind of girl, this task is proving much more difficult than it sounds.

I can't do anything but take one step at a time and I think that means hitting "publish" here and moving things toward the archives. I won't ever forget mom, but I can't stay here, in the fog.

Amazing Grace

In September of 2008, God allowed me to sing my grandma into eternity. She was a strong woman and fought to the very end, but went peacefully. A gift such as this would come along only once in a lifetime.

Or would it?

In the wee hours of Monday June 7, 2010, I was getting ready to sleep for a couple hours in the adjoining bed in mom's hospital room. By this time, we all knew her time was short, but only God knew the minute and hour he'd call her home. The nurse came in to take mom's vitals. Asked me if I needed anything. I brushed my teeth. I leaned over mom and talked to her. Told her I was going to nap in the bed next to her, I wasn't leaving the room, I'd be right there.

In that moment, her respirations dropped in half. I got closer, kissed her forehead, caressed her cheek, told her I love her. I said, "Ok mom. I'm not going to sleep. I'm just going to stay right here with you, ok?" And I did. More talking. More kissing. More breathing in her scent.

Without even knowing what was happening, I said, "Mom? I don't know if you want me to sing to you like I did grandma, but I sure will."

Amazing Grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

Mom's mouth moved for the first time in days, as if she was singing with me. I started over because I couldn't remember any other words.

Amazing Grace

How sweet the sound

And she breathed her last.

Twice in a lifetime I sang the two most important women in my life into eternity. There is no such thing as coincidence.