Life moving

Dear mom: We are all moved in to our new home. You would love it. I think about you all the time, as I am doing little things just like you used to and as my girls probably will someday. Today I was putting all my jewelry boxes in my underwear drawer remembering that you did that, too, and wondering if someday my girls will or if they even notice I do that. Clearly I noticed at one time that you did. Such a strange feeling, being in this house. The duplex was temporary so I did not really get attached to it. I think being here makes me miss my house in Austin and also makes it clear that I am in a totally different phase in life than I was when I was there: the girls are older-their little knick-knacks don't adorn their shelves like they used to. You are dwindling more each day and there is an emptiness where you should be. I feel a little lost. Today when I talked with you, the silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Are you still there? How much of you? Do you know who I am? So many questions.

Bits and Pieces

Dear Mom: I just got an email from dad reminding me that a little bit of you is going away, it seems every day. He told me that you don't ask where everyone is anymore. I don't know if it is because you are not able to, but still want to know, or if in your state of mind, it just is not important anymore. Makes me so sad. That was always so important to you: to know where your famiy was at all times-you kept in such good touch with us all. Now we will have to carry that on. I dreamed another dream a few nights ago about us all being home again. Aunt Eva was there in a blue dress and she looked me in the eye and said: "carry on the things that you have learned", or something like that. It spoke to me of tradition and how it is important for me to carry those on with my own kids and they with theirs. God is a God of unchanging promises-the same yesterday, today, and forever. I think there are some sweet traditions you have passed on to us from Grams that we need to keep alive. The dream was a good reminder. I don't have "you" anymore but I always have your influence. That is comforting. I love you, mom.

Christmas

Dear Mom: I am listening to Christmas music-your favorite. You would love this new artist I found: Michele McLaughlin. She plays simple piano, like Lori Line, only better. Listening to it reminds me of all the Christmas memories I have with you: coming home every year to a lovely decorated house with 2 trees-fake upstairs, real downstairs; homemade Christmas morning cinnamon rolls; Christmas Eve minestrone; playing our O Holy Night duet and laughing so hard because we would mess up so badly; the kids always putting on some kind of Christmas Eve program-and the pride in your eyes at your grandkids, whom you loved so much; hot spiced fruit on Christmas morning; billions of candles lit in your bookcase on Christmas Eve while we listened to Christmas radio or Spike Jones when you would allow it; wrapping presents late at night and stuffing the stockings; reading the Christmas story in Luke and playing mad-libs; so many other memories-can't recall them all but thanks, mom, so much, for lovely, lasting traditions that we all cherish and will for a long time. Here's hoping that this Christmas you can enjoy at least some of them-here's hoping that you will at least feel the love that is behind them all. I love you, mom.

Stuck

Dear Mom: You have seemed to even out a little and I find myself not grieving as much. Don't know if that is good or bad-just necessary. I talk to you every day-some are better than others. Sometimes you jabber and I just sit and listen and try to affirm what to me is nonsense, but to you might not be. Whatever is left inside, I want to encourage that. Sometimes a familiar phrase or two will leak out "love you, honey." Or "I don't believe I will", or another phrase you have used your whole life. It helps me know "you" are still there and brings comfort. It is the Christmas season and the strangest one of my life. First year for us to not put up a tree. First year I have not "freaked out" about getting everything ready and organized. I am learning. Christmas is about Jesus-Him alone-minus all the trimmings. He is enough. I am realizing that our family does not need all the trappings. We surely have enjoyed them over the years but for this year, let's just be together and laugh and not worry about all the extraneous stuff-shall we, mom? Let's just enjoy these days, for they go by so quickly and I want to milk each one for all it's worth.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Dear Mom:
Listening to "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and thinking about you. One of these days, you will be there, over the rainbow-safe in the care of God's eternal and unchanging promises to never leave you or forsake you. You will be free at last. Wishing this for you today and grieving over it, too. You being there will be you not being here which will leave a hole in my heart. Another one for Jesus to fill. I love you, mom, and want so much for things to be as they used to. Yet I know God has not ordained that and that His will is good, acceptable and perfect. In that I rest. I miss being able to share my life with you. Love, Cindy

home

We bought a house today, mom. I should be happy but all I feel is sad-realizing that you will never see it, never come to stay in it, never come to help me fix it up like you have done with all my other houses. To me, it is just one more thing that reminds me of the loss-of what will never be again. I miss you more than I can say. I miss your input into my life. I miss you being excited with me over things-like a house. I miss your voice and you are not even gone yet.

Dreams

Dear Mom:

I dreamed of you last night-again. In my dreams you are always still sick, but still able to interract with us all. We were all together as a family, in the basement and it was Christmas. I think that time frame and room captures so many beautiful memories of which I never want to let go. In my dream, we were all writing down our Christmas memories on paper snowflakes. The kids were little again-Jeff was there-we were all happy and laughing. You worked so hard to bring about those memories and cement them in place-the cement that keeps our family strong, even though you are not any longer. Thank you for all the years you invested in us-for the beautiful tapestry you helped create that is now our family. Kind of wish I did not have to wake up.