Josh's mom commented at the end of my second Mother's Day without all of my children to hug and kiss: "Another special day survived. Hang in there." Survived. I think that is what we all feel like, survivors. Survivors are defined as people "who survive, especially people remaining alive after an event in which others have died." And that is about all we do.
We have not really started living again, much of the time we are just hanging on. And time is moving so slowly, yet at the same time too fast. We go about doing our daily chores, but I don't think any of us recall much about our days even the special ones. Everything is still surreal and devastating and heartbreaking. We don't really allow ourselves to slow down too much because that is when life comes crashing in all around.
So, slowing down this Mother's Day weekend was no exception. Your dad, Caylea and Danny did such a great job keeping it low key. I appreciated the casual brunch and the gifts we could all share and all the time just hanging out. But I missed you. And it was especially hard because very few people wanted to mention you. I know they all believe it would be hard for me to even hear your name, but what they don't realize is how much harder it is to not hear it--and even more difficult for them to mention Danny and Caylea and not you. I believe because there will be no new stories with you, I am clinging to the old ones and and I am desperate to hear them, even over and over again, despite whatever tears may come. But I also struggled, because how do I reach out to other moms and talk to them about our beautiful kids without causing them to be sad on their own special day? So, I didn't. (I can hear you chastising me, but since this conundrum is all your fault, I am not listening.)
However, since I do have such an urge to tell your stories, I have started a brief list of topics I plan to write about you and that way if people want to "hear" they can "listen" when they are ready. Stories about your earrings, Taco More and Java City, April 20 Columbine song, station wagons, keys, your special jacket, spatulas, 9/11, your nicknames, superlatives, friends, work, school, narcolepsy, hair, beards, girls dresses, the vageena club, scavenger hunts, ear infections and tonsillectomy, "right there!", my last dream of you, "it's Ian's fault" among many others.
Here is one such quick story (already blogged as you may recall) of my gift last Mother's Day 2013: At 6am Dad and I were lying in bed talking. We talked often about your Homecoming…we wanted to be with you…and then I heard “Mom.” Dad and I both stopped in the middle of our conversation and looked toward the bedroom doors. We waited and waited. I finally said, “Did you hear someone call Mom?” Dad looked at me and said, “No, I heard someone call Dad.” We laid there for a few minutes soaking it in. Then Dad got up and checked the house. All five pets were sleeping as was Caylea. We believe without doubt, God opened Heaven so we could hear you call our names. We look forward everyday to our next visit with you.
Until then, I will say that even if your "chatter" this weekend made me cry, please continue to chatter away and know that I feel honored that God allowed me to be your mom for 19 years here on earth, honored that he allowed me three beautiful children who turned out to be wonderful young adults.
I miss you son. I love you.
Mom
Mother's Day 2005
No comments:
Post a Comment