My mom (one year later)

 The Daphne I planted for my mom last year

 

Decided to bloom today!

 

 

It's been a whole year since I said goodbye to my mom. Today I didn't get a phone call in the middle of the night with the most awful news, I didn't drive 200 miles with tears running down my face, I didn't watch my mom take her last breath, but I feel the same. I'm not weeping uncontrollably on the outside but the pain is still with me. Time doesn't really matter she will always be gone, but as I suspected the pain gets easier to live with and has become part of me. It will never be OK that she is not here to watch my babies grow up and that Ben can't remember her or recognize her in a picture. It breaks my heart everyday that my kids will miss out on all the love she had to give. It breaks my heart that she can't see what they look like today. It breaks my heart that I will likely live more years without a mom than with. It breaks my heart that I am finally to the stage in my life after having kids where I can fully appreciate everything my mom has done and that we can relate on a whole new level, and I need her to help me parent. It breaks my heart that I will never have her physical presence in my house and in my life. It breaks my heart that my memories will fade. Life is so quiet without her, my phone is quiet, my heart is quiet, it is eerie. One night not so long ago I had a dream about my mom and I woke up sad missing her and starting crying. Abi came in found me and ran out and yelled, "Ben, Ben you must come quick to look at mommy, she's crying!". We don't have much privacy in our house, not even in the bathroom, so my children see my pain and I hope they never have to experience it. The week after the funeral when we finally got back home was the hardest week of my life. It was like something had taken over my body and I couldn't function. It took every ounce of energy I had to feed the kids and that was all I could do. I know somehow this horrible loss will make me better, stronger, and maybe more compassionate but I still don't see it.

Glennon from Momastery a few days ago-
I woke up this morning, ready to compassion. Compassion originally meant “to suffer with,” so I consider compassioning to be a verb. It’s something to write on the to-do-list, something that takes time and energy. Instead of making room for it, we try to avoid compassion, or suffering with, which is understandable. Suffering with others hurts. It scares us. It breaks our hearts. But the deeper I get into this loving myself and others gig the more certain I am that a broken heart is something for which to strive. A broken heart is a badge of honor that says: I loved well. A broken heart is not always the end, but it IS often the beginning. Nobody ever changed the world with a shiny, mint- condition heart.

I like the part that a broken heart means you loved well and can be the beginning of something not the end. Something sad and awful can become something beautiful, I'm just not there yet and honestly this day is much harder than I anticipated. My eyes are already swollen. I do have some direction though, I know I want to find things I love to do and places I love and people I love and embrace them as much as possible. I want to be happy, something my mom would always strive for and not sure she could ever fully achieve. I can do that for you. I love you so much mom and miss you so much it kills me. I truly hope you are stirring things up in heaven and always being you.

"We cannot see her, but she is with us still.
A Mother like ours is more than a memory.
She is a living presence."