I really miss you.
It’s that time of year again when sadness and loneliness begin to consume me, despite all my efforts to not let it happen. As childish and silly as it may sound, despite being a full-grown thirty-four-year-old woman, I still want to stomp my feet and whale out, “it’s not fair!” when I think about your death. But I don’t… Instead I bottle up, get stressed and start taking it out on my family. I know you’d shake your pointer finger at me and glare at me over the top of your glasses if you saw how awfully stressed I was this morning. I definitely wasn’t being the best version of myself.
Justin was the one that actually pointed it out, helping me see what I was doing. So, now that I see what’s going on I know I need to get it on paper. It’s what makes me feel better. It’s what organizes my thoughts so that I can heal. It’s my therapy.
So let’s start with Reagan.
You would be so proud of her. That kid is smart and sassy and probably a lot like I was at her age. Yet despite being like me, she is still so much like Justin, too. She is destined for amazing things. I only wish you were here to see her in person. I’m sure your heart would swell with pride.
And now Reagan is old enough to understand who you are and how much she meant to you, too. We talk about you every day. I tell her how you live in heaven now, but how you still love her and watch over her, protecting her like a guardian angel. She still reads that book you gave her (the one where you recorded your voice reading it).
But still, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she hasn’t been hugged by her own grandma in four years. It pains me deeply.
Then there is Ashlyn…If there was ever a kid with undeniable tenacity and perseverance, it is that child. She will conquer the world one day, I just know it. And my goodness, does she look like you. She has your smile and your hair and something else I can’t quite put my finger on…but I’m guessing it’s your beautiful spirit.
And that beautiful spirit is in to EVERYTHING. Sometimes I feel like I can’t catch my breath with her, but then I remember your best advice ever: to just remember to love her. To slow down, not take life so seriously and to just let Ashlyn be who Ashlyn is.
Then there are the dogs. My dear God, how did you ever have more than one?! Sven and Roxy conspire against us daily. They run wild through the woods, track in dirt and mud, dig in the garbage, chew up things that are not their toys (actually this one is just Sven, because Roxy has no teeth left), and generally make me feel like a crazy person for ever wanting a second beastly animal. But we love them and could never, ever picture life without either of them.
Lastly, there is me and Justin. You never have to worry about the two of us, because we are the one constant. Justin keeps me grounded and I keep him moving – it’s always been that way and always will. He is the yin to my yang, or however that saying goes…And speaking of moving, I really wish you could see our house. You’d love the land and the peacefulness – our neighbor has cows! Who seriously would have ever thought that I would live by someone with actual real live cows? Not me! However, I could really use your gardening expertise, because I’m in the weeds (literally!)
Well now that I’m feeling better, I guess I’ll wrap this up. I love you, Mom. And not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.
Wish you were here,
8 thoughts on “That Time of Year Again…”
Beautiful writing as always. You could not have described your life any more perfect! You did forget to tell your mom one thing…..that one thing is that you are an amazing mother, wife, friend, writer, sister, and above all, the most perfect reflection of your mother. She would be so proud of you, proud that you have emotion, proud that you care enough to show all sides, and proud of you for allowing yourself to be vulnerable. You let go long enough to grow with your girls and this teaches them that life is not perfect and life is what you make of it. You are a reflection of a women who knew life was not perfect, and extremely unfair and she made every effort to be an amazing mother despite it all. She raised you, and I see her in you, in ever decision you make. She is smiling down at you, she loves you, and she is humbled that she raised such an amazing lady!
Thank you, Jen! I love you!
This is beautiful. It reminds me how lucky I am that my mother is still here. Her mother died before meeting any of her grandchildren and while my mother said she can barely remember her voice anymore (it’s been over 40 years since she lost her) she still misses her every day. It’s not childish to want to stomp and scream because it isn’t fair. Not fair at all.
You mother is watching you and your children from above and she is proud.
Thank you for your kind words, Hannah.
I’m so sorry you have to write this letter, but if it’s any consolation, it’s a great tribute to your mom. Like you, if there’s something that’s bothering me, I bottle it up as well. The reaction is the same: I take it out on my family, and my husband reminds me that pen and paper (or computer and keyboard) might be a better coping device.
Your family sounds well and I share Jen’s sentiments above in saying: your mom would be proud of you, for raising such beautiful girls and fostering such a great family with your husband. She’d be proud that you found an outlet for your grief and you’re sharing such a personal piece. And I know your mom may not be around anymore, but her memory lives on in so many facets of your life–your daughters and especially in you, and I know you’ll remember that always.
Thank you for opening up and sharing this post with us on #shinebloghop this week. We’re so glad you were able to join us.
Thank you for your kind words! I’m glad I was able to connect with you and other bloggers on #shinebloghop yesterday.
It’s really beautiful!!!