Dizzy

Grief is the by far the biggest dichotomy I’ve ever experienced. 

It’s only been two weeks that we’ve been without you, yet it’s already been two weeks. 

I feel raw, exposed, and wounded. Always seeking cover. Happiest when it’s finally dark and I can find asylum under the weight of my blankets. Yet I’m almost offended when my sadness isn’t acknowledged. The cashier chirps “Have a nice day!” and I want to snap at her “My mother is dead. YOU have a nice day”. 

I won’t circle the wagons. I won’t call to my sisters to lean into and cry on. Yet when they come anyway I cling to them as if they are my very breath. Desperate for the light they provide and greedily taking the balm they offer my torn spirit. 

I shun the things that remind me of you. I trim back my rose bushes. I put the photos on the highest shelf. Yet I look for signs everywhere: feathers, cardinals, butterflies.  I dream about you. Frantic plays full of jail cells and chains. I’m being kept from you. How do I get you out?  How much do I owe? I wake up sweaty and sick. 

Oh, Mama. I’m dizzy with the need of wanting you. Yet I’m dizzy with the want of needing to forget. 

Muffins

Today has been a rough day. It was Muffins With Mom at preschool. I’ve been telling  myself I didn’t have to go, but I woke up feeling like I needed to. Laurel and Rhodes have been so excited about it and I really didn’t want to disappoint them. So with a few deep breaths and lots of prayers in we went. 

I took one look at the crowded room and knew I’d made the wrong decision. I could feel the tears welling up as I prayed that I just get through this breakfast.  I moved us towards the buffet line and asked each twin what they’d like like on their plate.

“Muffin? Strawberries? Yogurt?”

Blank stares 

“Laurel. Rhodes. What do you want to eat?”

“Eat?” 

Oh, heavens. I might as well be asking them to MAKE me breakfast. 

I fill a plate and we venture out into the crowd to a table. When we get settled they both refuse food and commence to just stare at me. I’ve never felt awkward around my own children but this really was. I pick at a muffin and chat with a few friends who stop by to offer sweet words of condolences (which brings my anxiety way down) and it’s finally time to take the wonder twins to class. By the way, they have never spoken or eaten this entire time. 

After dropping Rhodes and Laurel off in their class I reach for my phone to call mom. It’s my habit to call her after drop off and I know she’d think the awkward muffin breakfast was funny. She loved twin stories. As I’m pressing the button labeled “mom” it hits me that I won’t ever make this call again. Nobody will ever appreciate my stories like she did. She would ask me to repeat parts just to be sure she had the details right for her retelling to daddy later. 

I let the phone fall back into my purse and finish my drive in silence. Tears are streaming and my stomach aches in a way I’ve recently become refamiliar with. It’s taken me awhile to realize what it was. It’s the same feeling I’d get at camp and when I went away to college.  I’m homesick. 

Mama will always be home. 

Now

The numbness is wearing off and the pain is settling in. I wonder if grief is like surgery. F always tells his patients day three is the worst. 

I find myself at times gasping for a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The tears begin and my chest contracts with an ache I’ve never felt before. Sort of like a charlie horse in my broken heart. It surprises me  mirroring the middle of the night leg cramps I used to get growing up. “Eat bananas” you’d tell me. If only you could give me advice on how to get through this. 

Sleep and Hunger evade me. I force myself to eat but everything tastes like I’ve burnt my tongue. Grief even has a flavor. I try to sleep. I get into bed and stare at the celing. I can hear the cat purring above my head and feel the cool air from the fan. My mind wanders to what the calendar holds tomorrow and I realize it’s the day you will be cremated. I have a fleeting thought that it’s good you won’t be cold anymore. That you hate to be cold. 

I can tell that the kids are starting to wear thin of my tears. Laurel sighs when she catches me crying. I refuse to hide my grief  from them.  You are worth grieving for. Your death has left a space in my heart. In my daily life.  I want your grandchildren to see what mourning looks like. What filling that space with peace and tears and gratitude looks like. They need to learn how to pay tribute in the small corners of the every day. How to honor a family member who sacrificed and suffered. 

Oh, Mama how I miss you. I see you everywhere. In Laurel’s long thin hands. In my climbing roses. In my hot tea in the mornings. I know these small things will bring me comfort in time, but for now they are the salt in my very new raw wound.

I know you are finally whole and complete and it is my turn to ache and be broken. 

Tidbits

I never knew death was catered until today. After you were gone I heard the nurse tell her trainee “after a patient dies we always call the cafeteria...” I remember being surprised that canceling lunch was their first priority (especially since you were being tube fed). Sometime later I find a cart next to your door. It’s apples, carefully arranged napkins, and tiny creamers on ice look out of place. The chocolate chip cookies are especially jarring. Were we supposed to eat this? Offer it to the funeral home picking you up? Was it a consolation prize for the doctors - better luck next time infectious disease team... have a tangerine? 

The last breath you took looked as if you were getting ready to say something really important. I will always wonder what it was. 

Telling Daddy you were gone will haunt me forever. 

Memories I’d suppressed to guard my heart against the dementia came flooding back: white birthday cakes with pink touch-me-nots; sunburnt shoulders and sandy toes eating sweetened condensed milk out of the can; fresh flowers by my bed every time I came home; planting flowers in the rain  

Mama, who will call me Lissy now? 

Ambassador

To my friend.  You know who you are. 

In life we are all asked to be ambassadors.  Sometimes we choose our cause based on our passions and interests (like my obsession love for fostering kittens) and other times our cause chooses us.  

I always say that I cried for three days when I found out I was pregnant with the twins. This isn't a joke. I literally cried for three days. I started when I saw two perfectly round sacs on the ultrasound screen and I didn't stop until I heard a calm voice in my head say "For I know that plans I have for you..." In case you aren’t familiar that's the beginning of Jeremiah 29:11, a verse that I have relied on more than once in my life for comfort and peace.  I'm convinced that voice was God speaking to me. From then on I accepted that I was now a mom of FIVE and I had two babies coming. As soon as my bump became visible I'd Unknowingly and Unwittingly become a spokesperson for both multiples and large families. Unwanted questions, stares, judgements, and advice are still a part of my daily life. For an introvert this can cause a lot of stress and I'll admit that during my pregnancy and the twins’ infancy I spent a lot of energy figuring out how to avoid the unavoidable. The twins are now four (!) and I've settled into this role. I enjoy comparing notes with other moms of large families and LOVE talking to new moms of multiples.  I might not have chosen this cause, but it's one I've embraced and now enjoy.  

I vividly remember the way the feeling in the room changed when she first brought it up.  Her normally confident- always on the verge of laughter- voice became timid and soft.  I swear I felt a draft. 

"X brought up killing himself last night"

I had no words. Her precious son.  The one who loves my twins and will play with them unasked.  The boy who makes me throw my head back with laughter.  The sweet soul who can "read a room" and intuitively knows when someone is upset or stressed. No. Just No. We talk and text for days.  She and her husband come up with a plan and work hard to get X the help he needs.  They put aside their own fears and ask the hard questions. There are ups and downs, but throughout My Friend remains steady. She is the touchstone X needs.  

Then one afternoon My Friend takes X to the dr.  The nurse is new and isn't aware of X's struggles. She asks for a list of X's medications. When THE ONE is mentioned there is a great pause of judgement.  Eyebrows are raised. Throats are cleared. Awkwardness is felt by all. But my friend, now the ambassador for youth mental health, didn't let the nurse shame her or X. She realizes that she too would have felt concern or even confusion by this a few years ago.  She resists the urge to smack the nurse, and instead shows her usual grace. My Friend repeats the list of medications while hugging her sweet X.  Peace was restored in small exam room. 

Friend, I am so very proud of you.  I know you didn't ask for this role. Nobody would- it is one filled with fear, anxiety, and sadness. You have accepted it with a grace and peace that most would be incapable of. You have used God as your compass and prayer as your balm.  It amazes me how your family continues to thrive and move forward despite this tremendous struggle. This is because of you, sweet friend.  Please know that I am always here and I love you. 

No More

I peek into the preschool classroom to see Laurel sitting in the tiniest of chairs eating lunch with her friends.  She laughs so hard the yogurt that was balanced on her spoon tips onto her special Valentine dress.  Her face momentarily falls, but she quickly wipes it off and goes back to laughing.  Rhodes is already on his nap mat. I can see his beloved dinosaur printed rubber boots barely peeking out from his blanket.  

Love.

I walk into the happiest of first grade classrooms. It is full of laughter and smells faintly of sugar from the treats waiting on the table. I find Oliver perched on the edge of his chair. His sweaty hand clutching conversation hearts and marshmallows just waiting to yell "bingo". He manages to give me a half hearted wave as he covers one of the pictures on his card. His smile is contagious and I find myself grinning as I back out of the room.

Love.

The ice cream is a soupy mess.  It squishes up over the top of the carton as I attempt to scoop it into the bowl of the waiting fourth grader. We explode into laughter and I apologize for the giant mess I've made of his sundae. Grant is waiting behind him and true to his snarky nature comments that his mom is a "mess like that ice cream". All three of us giggle and I threaten to withhold the messy ice cream. 

Love.

I watch Will slowly walk to the house after getting off the bus.  His backpack is slung over one shoulder and his gate is more teen than kid.  I remember when he was in kindergarten and every day he'd shout "See ya' next year!" to his bus driver.  When he reaches me I tousle his hair and comment that this is the first year he didn't have a Valentine party. He hugs me and asks if I was sad about this.  I admit that I was. 

Love.

I'm on the phone with my Valentine when he suddenly stops talking midsentence. 

"What?" I ask. 

"There's been another school shooting.  Two are confirmed dead."

"No! no.  Children are dead?"

"I don't know.  That's all the alert said. I'm going to go."

My heart is racing.  My stomach has clenched.  I feel sick.

Evil.

I'm doing homework with Will when my phone rings.  My mom has been watching the news coverage and a young man that looks like Will was shown.  She is crying and confused.  She needs confirmation that he is safe.  I'm on the phone for over an hour.

Evil.

Oliver asks me why I don't have the morning news on.  I tell him I just want quiet this morning.  In reality I don't want to have another conversation about why people want to hurt others. I don't want to promise them that their schools are completely safe. I don't want to have another conversation about what to do if they hear shots at their schools.  I don't want to remind Grant that he is to find Oliver and then he is to use his phone to text me that he is safe. I don't want to remind Will that he is to take care of himself and to text me when he is safe. I don't want to remind them to turn off their ringers.  I just don't.

Evil.

Two of my biggest blessings are getting out of the car at school.  I want to pull them back into the car and speed away. I want to keep them with me. I can't guarantee that they are safe, yet I'm leaving them. I'm fighting back tears as I'm driving away. 

Evil.

I remember that I have these feelings after every shooting and that they will fade.  I realize that is 100% completely fucked up. 

Evil.

I'm obsessing about 17 mothers today.  Mamas that lost their babies.  Mamas that anxiously waited to hear the news. Praying that it was someone else's heart that was gone.  Mamas that will never ever be whole again.  

Evil.

When does this stop? When will we take mental health seriously? When will we stop letting Evil steal our babies?  

Dear Mom

Today I threw out the amaryllis bulb I've been nurturing and watching all season.  I suppose I could have done like in years past and added it to one of my beds, but it just seemed wrong to keep watching it grow and bloom while I watch you wither away.  I debated to even purchase one this year as we'd always forced the blooms together.  A winter competition of sorts.  We'd measure the progress and call one another "Mine grew 3 inches this week." "I added more sun, but cut back on water and now I have a bud on mine!" Somehow no matter what I did yours always ended up taller and always bloomed first.

I missed our conversations this year.  You hardly answer my calls now.  Sometimes you can't find the phone and sometimes you just don't feel like navigating through the fog of a social exchange.  I get it.  Our conversations get stuck in a loop. Always starting and ending in the same place.  I know the kind thing is to continue the game, but sometimes I don't want to play ring around rosy .  Sometimes I want to scream "I already told you that!" or "Why can't you remember?" Sometimes I just want my mom.

It's an odd thing to miss someone who's not physically gone.  To grieve for someone over and over.  To have the curtain of hope lifted and lowered without rhyme or reason. You learn to cling to the glimpses you are given. You pray for days full of grace and peace instead of anxiety and agitated confusion. You learn to ignore a sharpness that wasn't there before. You figure out how to explain to your children that sometimes adults say things they don't mean to people they love beyond reason.

I would give anything if I could fill in the missing pieces for you - to make things make sense again.   To watch Daddy care for you both inspires me and breaks my heart. I've said time and again that he is the epitome of in sickness and in health.  He is loyal and devoted and tender.  There have been times I've felt like there wasn't room for me here.  That you and Daddy have boarded up the windows and locked the doors- determined to keep me out.  But it wasn't WHO you were keeping OUT, was it? It was WHAT you were keeping IN.  No more names forgotten, no more dates confused, no more memories lost.  I love you and I understand.