"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