"Getting older's not been on my plans"

  I sat across from my dad at lunch, yesterday, and asked him, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" He said, "Yeah. 1 year." And his eyes grew damp. "I'll never forget walking into that room..." He didn't continue. I didn't ask him to. "I'll never forget the police officer banging on my door at 1130 at night..." I didn't continue. He didn't ask me to.  "This journal was given to me several years ago by my children. I know they wanted me to write down my thoughts to get through the rough times I was going through at the time. I did not start this at that time. Why am I starting it now? Well, I only thought I had been through hell back then, but now I realize I didn't have any idea what heartache was until Aug 15, 2010 -"   This is the beginning of one of my mother's journals. A journal she started a little over a month after Andy died. And she wrote it--to him.  "Dear Mother - Today is the day before Mothe

     I always wanted my kids to have the "cool" stuffed animal. I wanted them to be the odd one out. So, when Owen was born I bought him a stuffed fried egg, a stuffed ravioli, a cool dragon, and a neat narwhal. Needless to say, he didn't really take to any of those. And he didn't really have a favorite stuffed animal until he turned 1. To this day, we still don't know where he got this thing. It's a nerdy little tiger, with a ribbon bow under its chin, that goes everywhere. In fact, if he leaves him at home on "accident" we say tiger stayed home to take a nap because he was tired.     I don't think Owen realized that his father's favorite animal was the tiger; I think this stuffed animal just showed up around his birthday, and he started asking for it. It seems to me that most kids have some "comfy" habit...sucking thumbs, sucking a pacifier, twirling hair, carrying around a blanket or a stuffy. Owen is no different. Except, it isn

   It was always an easy gift to get...yellow roses, some wonderful chocolates, a charcuterie assortment, a pedicure for the both us, and time spent together. The time was her favorite. But, this year, no yellow roses, no chocolates, no charcuterie assortment, no pedicure, and most felt...no time spent together.    I can't say I have been looking forward to this day. But, it came anyway. In 37 years, I didn't think I would be motherless so soon in life. It's been 8 months, 37 weeks, 262 days, and 6,294 hours since she left me motherless. Just 2 weeks after Claire was born...she left.    My husband, children, wonderful friends, and father have gone out of their way to make this day a bit more bright. Thinking of me a little more today. Not because I am a mother, but because I no longer have mine.   But lately, when I think about her, I get angry. Not necessarily angry at her-she would have fought tooth and nail to stay, but angry nonetheless. Why? Maybe for leaving at all. M

  When I was pregnant with Owen, mom took me, just days before his birth, to get a pedicure. She and I always enjoyed getting our nails and feet done, and this was her treat to me. This time, with Claire, was no different. Mom took me on August 6th to get my "pre-birth" pedicure. I chose a bright pink because bright colours make your skin look more tan.   Mom always said her polish lasted a long time because she didn't wear many closed-toe shoes. Mine didn't. I wear steel-toed boots and closed-toe shoes everyday.    This time is different. I have just a sliver of polish left. The last vintage of the time she and I sat in the massage chairs next to each other talking about how things were going to change with a new baby.    We laughed at the thought of Owen and his new baby sister. We smiled at the thought of me groggily waking each morning getting nothing but a few moments of sleep. We basked in the moments of just being there with each other.   I told white boy I wan

  There's a song, by Superchick, I used to binge when Andy died. The first time my mom heard it she looked at me and said, "They wrote this about you."   "She never slows down.   She doesn't know why   But she knows that when she's all alone,   Feels like its all coming down   She won't turn around   The shadows are long and she fears if she cries.    that first tear,   The tears will not stop raining down" I'll admit it, I've barely cried for mom. Most certainly a lot less than I ever imagined, and I think perhaps I am just waiting for the fall out. But, to experience a fall out, one has to be pushed to their literal brink.    Welp, I've hit it. I hit the wall. I hit the wall so hard, I'm a glob of goo running down slowly. And that first tear isn't stopping.    I'm laying beside my 5 week old, listening to my husband snore, (begging him to stop) running on 2 hours of sleep in the last 48, with a sick toddler in the other room

  It is customary in a eulogy to begin with a name, a date of birth, death date, those who have gone before and those who are left behind. However, mom does not deserve customary. So this letter is for her… Mom,     I feel like I am back here too soon. Once again, I am giving words about someone that I loved most who left me too early. Monday afternoon, I sat in front of Father Desmond and he asked me this, “Give me one thing that describes your mom.” I will admit I drew a blank. How could I take your entire life and micro focus it into one thing? How could I take you and break you down into a simple idea of one thing? I can’t.     I mean… How can anyone describe the North Star without seeing it? The only star that never rises or sets. The only star that is in the same place every night. The star that is the easiest to find and the one by which we navigate.  How can anyone describe a compass without using one? The most accurat e means to guide us through the muck and the mire. The inst