Tuesday, February 13, 2018

When Life Throws You Bullsh*t

I feel like this is advice my mom would give to me if she were here.

She loved to garden and rarely cussed, but she had such a goofy sense of humor!

The first time I saw this, I laughed, because I could totally see her saying this to me when I complain about the struggles of military life.

I can't believe it's been 10 years, momma.

10 years that I've managed to go on without you.

One day at a time.

It's been 10 years of figuring out who I am without you, how to carry on, how to adapt.

10 years of discovering a strength I didn't realize that I had.

I am forever changed by you, from the 22 years we had together, and now by the always-increasing years that we are apart.

I look at life a little differently since you left.

I know that tomorrow is never a guarantee for any of us.

I'm a little less hesitant to go for what I truly want. I worry a little less about what others think.

I feel like I've entered a sisterhood of (young) motherless daughters.

But on the other hand, I'm happy to share my stories with others who are hurting, too.

I know what it means to support someone who is truly hurting. I had so many who supported me, and their generosity, no matter how small, will never be forgotten.

Grief is a difficult and complicated thing. 

No matter what kind of loss you suffer, grief never ends.

And everyone's journey through with grief can be different.

So don't compare.

It can be very difficult to navigate life without you.

It's hard to watch others plan weddings with their mothers.

It's hard to watch others celebrate a baby on the way with their mothers.

I missed you so much at Ava's baby shower. 

That day was so hard for me.

I could feel your absence in the room.

I don't know how else to explain it but there was literally a void. Like a physical void.

I knew you weren't there but I kept looking for you, scanning the room as if you were just hidden out of sight in the back.

It's hard to watch others dropping off their babies with grandma.

Or having a day out with their moms.

 Shopping and having lunch.

 It doesn't always upset me though; it's gotten a lot less painful over the last few years.

But on occasion, it will stab like a knife.


I really like the water/wave analogy. I've used that to describe my feelings a few times and it is exactly how it feels for me. And that's rare to be able to put words to feelings of grief.

I saw this while I was browsing online and I love it:

After all, it is what you would want.

Valentine's Day has been changed forever for me. 

It's a day of remembrance, pain and sorrow, but still, it is about love.

My heart will always feel a little heavy on this day.

But I know my momma's life had a purpose that is still being fulfilled with each day that passes.

She touched a lot of lives!

I think of her most when I am outside.

I like to just sit and imagine we are together.

I like to think she is with me, too.

I think we often create stories to help us "justify" or "explain" someone's passing. Especially if passing was sooner than a typical lifespan.

But I have to believe that my mom played a part in watching over my husband when he was deployed to Iraq and was involved in an IED explosion just one month after she died.

She had to have been there when Ava's delivery got complicated and her cord prolapsed. The doctors were even amazed Ava was unharmed. That delivery could have ended very differently.

I know that she was there and brought my husband home to me and protected our baby girl.

Maybe that's why she was called to heaven early; but I guess we will never know for sure.

Happy Valentine's Day, momma.

I'm sure heaven has the most beautiful lilies and roses!

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