Sometimes hope peaks through.

Hiding from the Night

It's now 11:42 and I am still up . . . wide awake as a child on Christmas Eve or the night before the first day of school.  Lately, I have not been able to sleep.  I have always been nocturnal, so this comes as no surprise, but while I love the solitude of night, I think I am hiding from it.  It is that time . . . that middle-of-the-night silence that scares me the most because I am alone with my thoughts, which ultimately drift to the loss of my mother, my adult girls' future, my grandson's life, and my husband and his retirement at 56.  Too much thinking for a time when you should be shutting down.  The coolness of the pillow should provide respite and sanctuary from the intrusion and chaos of life. But sleep has been elusive, like that winning lottery ticket that I never seem to be able to find or the numbers I want to see on the scale when I step on.  But I digress  . . . which follows suit with my train of thought at night . . . wandering wherever it pleases.  Sometimes it visits pleasant places and I feel comforted, but mostly it has been seeking out dark and scary places that I try to repress.

This blog, however, has become a safe haven of sorts.  It helps me make sense of my random thoughts. . . I wonder if I'm even normal sometimes.  Will I ever feel like myself again now that my mom is gone?  She was my very best friend, and when I think of a world without her . . . oh no . . . push it down.  I still have to go to her house and sift through her belongings.  It all seems so senseless that we collect all this stuff and then we leave this world, and it stays right here for someone else to make sense of.  Obviously I will never have the same appreciation for some of her things and some things I will downright laugh at, but I know there are some things that will make her life tangible for me . . . her books, her jewelry, her teapots, her Beanie Babies.

I will do this with a heavy heart, but I am hoping to find smile and laugh a little when I do.  Maybe it will be therapeutic and the nights will no longer plague me.

A Long Summer . . .

Today is the first official day of my summer vacation, and normally I would be ecstatic, but oddly enough, I am dreading it . . . I haven't posted in a long time because quite honestly, I feel so lost. I am having a difficult time coming to terms with my mother's death.  This isn't how I thought my life would turn out.  In the back of my mind, I always knew she would probably go before me, but I always thought it was light years from whenever I thought about it.  If I had only known that it was going to be so soon, I would have done thing so differently.  But then again, wouldn't we all?

There is no way to prepare for death.  It just happens.  I don't mean to minimize life, but it just seems so cut and dry sometimes.  Then you start thinking about why are you on this earth and what is your role.  You wish you can have the kind of life that you are supposed to have, but sadly this only happens rarely.

If life is just a series of lessons (and I feel it is), and we evolve into the person we are supposed to be with each lesson, then my mother's death is supposed to teach me something.  Right now, unfortunately, I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself.  I loved her so much (wish I had showed her more) and I know she loved me unconditionally (even when I wasn't the perfect daughter) and now I feel a huge void in my life.  It is selfish to wish that she was still here . . . she was so broken by the time of her death . . . not the woman who moved us to SC in 1975 with everything we owned packed into an Oldsmobile, driving down I-95 searching for a better life.

She changed her life dramatically, so that we could have a better one, so I need to find myself.  The "me" she would want me to be.  The "me" who will continue to make her proud.  The "me" my girls and my grandson can look up to,and one day look back after I'm gone and say she used everything God gave her.  Maybe I need to drive on the I-95 of my life . . .

Within Me

Standing in your sunlight

Soaking up your rays

I watch the light surround you

Igniting all my days

I’d love to be the fire

That sets your world ablaze

Darkness tried to steal you

While confusion taunted your soul.

I want to be the brilliance

That makes the broken whole

Life can be so transient

So fleeting and surreal

But now that you are near me

Slowly we both heal.

Step into the sunlight

And breathe in deep and pure

Let the love that burns within me

Give you reason to endure.

So soak up all the love

That radiates from my heart

And we’ll never be alone

Though we’re miles and miles apart.

February Storm

It's February - my mom's favorite month of the year.  She loved everything about it - the horoscope sign of Pisces, the royal purple of its birthstone amethyst, the candy and flowers of Valentine's Day, the almost-chance of snow some years, and most of all, her birthday.  February 24th, 2012, would have been my mom's 70th birthday.  As the day approached, I became increasingly anxious and fearful.  What could I do to honor her?  How would I make it through the day?  And, what would that day, February 24th, feel like without her gone from my world?  Would I be able to weather life's storms?

The day came . . . it was a downcast day.  I knew it would be melancholy and fragile, mirroring my frame of mind.  I didn't work that day . . . didn't think I could navigate the day at school with students and bells and paperwork and lunch duty.  Visions of me crumpled on the floor like the ashes of an extinguished fire filled me with panic.  Yet somehow, I knew I could survive if I just did things that would make me happy.  I met a friend for coffee at Starbucks, a good friend whom I had not seen in a long while, and surprisingly we picked up as if not one second had passed.

Later I met my daughter Kristen for an early lunch, having just finished a late breakfast of oatmeal and a Venti Blonde at Starbucks.  Kristen soon left, and again that feeling of uneasiness returned, as I was alone with my thought.  I decided to go to Dollar General to buy something, anything, just to occupy my mind, as loneliness was the ghost I feared.

While in the car, I had heard a violent storm was on its way at 75 miles per hour towards somewhere around our area, and it was packing 60 mile-an-hour winds, but I wasn't alarmed because it was not supposed to hit us directly.  In the store, I meandered through the aisles, looking for something to buy.  Picking up and putting down things randomly, I suddenly grew aware of a steady pounding sound.  Sirens seemed to blaring outside.  I made my way to the front of the store, and the doors of store, completely made of glass, as well as large plate glass windows, rattled and wavered with the onslaught of the wind, the piercing sound I had heard.

I assessed the situation quickly as the lights flickered on and off.  Where would I go?  Standing in front of glass doors and a wall of windows did not seem to be the best option.  I began surveying the store looking for  shelter.  As I sat on a carton of detergent boxes in the back of the store, I saw the sign "Women."  That's where I should be - a bathroom.  I surmised that taking cover under the sink would be the most logical plan.

Wait!  It was my mom's 70th birthday . . . she was my guardian angel.  "Mom, I'm scared."  Am I really going to be caught in the wreckage of a tornado as it brings down the Dollar General?  "Please, Mom, ask God to keep us all safe.  Please stop this storm.  It's your birthday, so surely this can't be happening to me?"

As quickly as it started, it ceased.  The sound of nothing felt so good as I realized the rain stopped and the wind died.  I was okay, and my life would not end at the Dollar General on my mom's 70th birthday.  I weathered the storm and will weather the storms.

My World Without You

Today was a gloomy day.  I think I've been in denial about my mother being gone.  It's like I have tucked her away in a small compartment and rather have chosen to just believe I haven't seen her in a while.  There are so many things that scare me when I think about how I will deal without her in my life . . . my future, my own children, my grandchild, just about everything.  She was always my rock . . . and somehow I falsely believed she would always be there.  And as long as she was on this planet, I had a buffer zone . . . a safe haven.  But now my world feels so incredibly large and blank . . . I am not saying I'm not blessed for I truly am, but I feel lonely now.  I am drifting from day to day with my good days, my okay days, and my just plain sad days.  So many days I want to just pick up the phone and call her and then I have to steel myself when I realize I can't.  Don't think I haven't tried . . . but when I dial her number, I get the following, "The number you have reached has been changed or is no longer in service."  No longer in service . . .

Me and Belle

I was dreading going back to school today, but I attempted to put on a brave face because that's what grown-ups do, right?  As I was heading out the door, I noticed a horrible smell.  I looked over and saw my poor little Taco lying in his own "sickness."  Just laying there, helpless.  I had to go to work, and I just couldn't handle it.  I called for David, and he came downstairs to take care of Taco.  

Later in the day, I got a call from David, which I missed because I still had students.  When I could, I texted him back to ask about Taco.  David replied, "He's gone."  I dialed David's number and he picked up.  I could tell he had been crying.  He told me about how the vet said Taco was one sick little dog, and of course, they both made the decision to put him to sleep.  The vet asked David if he wanted to be in there.  Well, no one wants to see an animal die, but if you have a dog or a cat who has become a part of your family, there is no hesitation.  Out of love, you hold that pet and stroke its head or cuddle its body while his life slowly ebbs away.  David did that for Taco today and for me.

Now Belle (Taco's other half - Taco & Belle - get it?) and I are grieving together.  She is tinier than Taco, and right now she seems so frail.  Taco and Belle were two halves of a whole.  Wherever you saw Taco, Belle wasn't far away.  So Belle is grieving along with me.  We have lost our best friends.  The only solace I take is knowing Taco is not sick anymore, and he is a young pup in Heaven.  I smile when I think he is there to take care of my mom, the faithful lapdog that he was.

It might seem strange or even silly to some people that a human can get so attached to a dog or a cat or a bird or any other type of pet, but I believe God places animals in our lives to teach us about ourselves.  Taco taught me about aspects of myself that I didn't know existed because before I had him, I'd never had a house dog.  He brought me comfort, happiness, and laughter.  I will miss his furry little body perched in my lap, under the covers while I read or search the internet or watch TV.    

My mom was a huge animal lover also.  She had three pets when she died - Andy (a rescue dog), Lulu (her 60th birthday present), and Dude (a slightly offbeat cat).  As she had no children in her house, her pets became her children.  She even cooked for them and hand-fed them.  It's strange because the last week of her life, I was driving by her house on the way to the nursing home, and I asked her if she wanted me to stop by her house to see Andy and Lulu and Dude.  Sadly, she said no because it would be to hard.  If only we had known . . .

So Belle and I will grieve together, and oddly enough, we will go through this healing process together.  Yes, God places animals in our lives for a purpose.  He knew.