3 months

I was talking with my sister today. Lots of ranting about life and stuff. Then the inevitable pause in the conversation.

"So. How are you doing?"

Just a few simple words. But we each knew what we were asking.

We're really asking how the grieving is going. How are you holding up? Are you still in disbelief, do you still think about calling her on the phone and then realize she gone, do you still cry at odd times...the waves crashing over your soul, making you feel like you're drowning in your tears and you can't catch a breath.

"How are you doing?"

I think I'm doing ok. Most of the time. It's been two weeks since I sobbed on my bed for 15 minutes then picked up the broken pieces of my tear stained heart and shoved them back into my aching chest.

It's been three months. I like to think my Mom is getting settled up there in heaven and is putting her final touches on a new job for The Husband, amongst a bunch of other stuff. Don't get me wrong. I know God has it all organized but if you knew my Mom, you'd know that she's already attended several meetings about the whole issue, come up with a few choice soundbites that succinctly put it all into perspective and then pushed the start date up about 2 months.

It's how she rolls.

Anywhoo, in talking with my sister today it made me realize that I'm doing ok. There's a lot of stuff in my life I'm dealing with but when it comes to Mom...well, I think I'm where I'm suppose to be. Grieving, but slowly moving through this whole process of saying good bye to a beloved person.

Will I ever stop missing her? No. I don't want to ever get to that place. Do I want my heart to heal? Yes, but I want those scars to remain on my heart forever. They mean she was loved, always missed, never forgotten. But I have to wake up every day and carry on. Boy would she be pissed if I didn't do that. If every person that ever loved her didn't do that.

And so we get up every morning and brush our teeth, pluck the new grey hairs out of our eyebrows and make a pot of coffee. We carry on.

Part of the grieving for me has been a desperate need to remember my mom as she was before the cancer entered her brain. Before the chemo. Before she found a lump in her breast. It was so difficult right after she died to remember her as she truly was for most of her life, before the cancer slowly stole her away. And it was so difficult to retrieve any positive pictures in my mind.

I started to dream about my mom shortly after she passed away. Most of them were foggy, bits and pieces that I would try desperately to put back together in my mind when I awoke. They were moments of her as she used to be, not wasting away, but vibrantly alive...but they were like viewing snapshots of faded pictures when I awoke and I couldn't cling to their images, no matter how hard I tried.

But one night about a month after she died, I entered a garden in my dream. There was a patio, and a white trellis. The sun was shining but there was cool shade on the other side of the trellis...trees and flowers, white chairs in a big semi circle on the grass.

I walked out into the garden and saw people sitting in the chairs. I knew there was a person sitting in a chair just on the other side of the trellis and I was drawn to that spot. I walked to it, turned and looked. Mom was sitting in the chair, smiling, radiant, so happy.

"MOM. MOM! What are you doing here??? You're suppose to be dead. You died."

I know. Even in my dreams I ooze poetic verse.

Mom stood up. Smiling. So so smiling.

"The doctors were wrong! The cancer's gone. I'm empty of cancer! They did tests. It's gone."

Smiling smiling smiling.

And I hugged her fiercely. And we hugged and hugged and hugged and I didn't let go. And she didn't let go. I was hugging my Mom in the garden, surrounded by summer trees, sun and the flowers that she so loved. There were other people, all sitting in the chairs, watching us. I didn't see their faces but I knew they were loved ones. In her favourite place to be. The garden. Loved ones. Flowers.

I felt the need to write this down tonight. To remember. Because I'm learning that part of grieving is remembering. Remembering that it's ok to smile at the good thoughts, important to think about the happy times, let go of the "why's" and "it's not fair" and focus on the carrying on.

Do I still cry? Yes. But not as often.

Do I still miss her? Oh, yes, but I'm learning to accept this new normal.

Am I still angry? No. And I can't tell you how grateful I am to have moved past that. I am so grateful that I don't feel like putting my fist through the wall or breaking every plate in my cupboard anymore.

Do I still feel disbelief? This has all of a sudden gone away. It was strange to have gone through the last few months of her life, knowing she was dying, care for her, be there when she passed away, see her in her coffin, and then be driving down the road two months later and be hit with a huge wave of shock with the realization that she was gone. She was really gone. For good. For ever.

(For the record..if you were driving on the #1 Hwy from Chilliwack about a month ago and saw a deranged lady in a white minivan crying like a banshee? Ya. That was me.)

Have I stopped reliving my Mom's last moments over and over in my head? Yes. And I'm ok with that. Because I'm also learning that in order for grieving to happen, to keep moving through this whole process, I have to let them happen. Not fight it. Not perseverate on it. I know I was having issues with those last few hours...why didn't I realize sooner, why didn't I call the siblings that weren't there, what should I have done differently, but also just desperate to NOT forget those last few hours and moments.

Writing them down gave me permission to stop thinking about it over and over. I know I can go back and read it if I feel like I'm forgetting. That's what I felt drawn to do tonight. Write down my dream. I won't forget.

And that is comforting. It's not a hug from Mom, but it's comforting.

Reboot

It's been a rough stretch in The Mahoney family.

The loss of The Husband's Dad.

The Husband's job.

My Mom.

Every door that opened seemed to bring fresh tears, new frustrations, more worry and endless sadness.

And every new hurt brought us further and further down a dark and unknown road with no light at the end. And we don't own a GPS. I can't tell you how many times I've sat down and started to write in this little blog of mine. There were so many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to write about. But the hurt was too much and I couldn't get it out. My mom kept telling me to get back at it and write, but what I needed to write about I couldn't let her read.

Despair. Pain. Disbelief. Anger. A lot of swear words.

She wouldn't have approved.

And now she's gone. I stood beside my mom and told her to go. I told my mom it was ok to go, we would all be ok. My heart was screaming don't go, please...I haven't told you I love you enough, you have to see my kids grow up, I still need to talk to you everyday on the phone, don't leave us. I don't want you to go, I don't want you to go.

But I told her it was ok to go. She looked at me, nodded her head and left us. 2 1/2 years battling breast cancer like a warrior, staying with us days longer than medically made any sense.

And I couldn't find it in me to write.

Seriously pathetic.

So I'm giving myself a reboot. Rebooting my blog. Calling a mulligan. A do over. New opportunities for The Husband and our family are on the near horizon and it's going to be all sunshine and double rainbows around this joint. Double fricking rainbows.

Or quite possibly some aurora borealis. And I've always wanted to see me some of that.

I'm back, baby. I'm back.

What I Learned During Lent

I gave up beer and junk food for Lent.

Maybe you heard.

Once or twice.

It's not like I'm a lush or anything. When I say I gave up beer for Lent, I'm talking about the equivalent of giving up 3 or 4 beer a week. The junk food.....well, uh....yes. I gave that up, too.

I don't always give up something for Lent. Sometimes I DO something. Like get up at 6:30 am and go for a run. In my defense, I was much younger then and had two working hips and two fewer children so it seemed less insane at the time.

Sometimes my Lenten challenge is just between myself and Jesus. But whatever it is, I try not to whine about what I'm doing or not doing because that's not what it's about. Every year I learn something about myself and work on my relationship with Jesus.

But this Lent, there was an added bonus.

For 40+ days, I didn't drink beer. I did not eat junk food. (Except for around my birthday....hey, I was turning 40. What better way to celebrate that but with a Bellini and a thick piece of cheese cake?) And guess what? In those 40+ days, I had only 1 migraine and it lasted for only a day and a half instead of the usual 3 days. And I lost 5 pounds. And I feel better.

It's like finding out diamonds aren't a girl's best friend, my favourite coffee is not ethically grown and my beautiful children write bad things about me in their diaries. Then someone punches me in the stomach and asks if I'd like a lovely cup of Earl Grey tea with the milk poured in the cup first, just as it ought to be.

So that kinda sucks.

Migraines or beer. Fat or chocolate. Feel good all day or feel good for a moment with salty dill pickle chips on my lips.

So the choice has been made. I've been shown the way. If my life is full of junk food and beer then it will also be full of migraines and jigglierer...er arms. Oh, the tangled web that is my life.

This is my compromise. Weekdays will see me walking the straight and narrow. Weekends will be filled with puppy dogs and fluffy kittens and the occasional beer. Or some baked dill pickle chips. Or the odd chocolate fondue. Or cookies or Easter eggs or pop or chips and dip or cake or.....

But today is Tuesday.

We'll see how it goes. Moderation. My new best friend or my new worst enemy?

The Haircut

I got my haircut today.

I've been feeling of late that my mass of frizzy curls was weighing me down. Aging me. Hiding my face.

And it was clogging up the drain something fierce.

It's my own fault. I put off getting my hair cut because I hate strange people touching me. I hate people looking at me and I particularly hate people commenting on my hair.

When I go to the hairdresser, they always say three thing.

1. Wow. You have a lot of hair.

Yes. Yes I do. I have had a lot of hair since the day I was born. I look like I'm wearing a wig in my hospital picture. I am aware of how much hair I have.

2. You want to CUT IT? It's so beautiful long.

Are you kidding me? You just hate cutting a LOT of really wavy hair. Get on with it. And while you're at it, cut it as short as I've asked you to. You never do.

3. Wow. You have a lot of grey hair for your age......you're HOW OLD? I don't believe you.

Um. I have no idea how to respond to this. Yes. I'm a copiously frizzy haired 40 year old. Please cut my hair. Only touch me as necessary and yes, I want it that short.

Today's hairdresser was in a bit of a bad mood. APPARENTLY, someone came in to sharpen her thinning shears and busted them. In case you were wondering, she spent $300 on those thinning shears 5 years ago. And in case you were also wondering, she paid that thief $20 to do it.

She was cheesed.

Cheesed enough to swear 8 times about it. Give or take a swear. It's not like I was counting or anything. I was too busy praying that she didn't cut off my ear.

But, surprisingly, she gave me a great haircut. And, for the first time in history, a hairdresser cut my hair as short as I asked.

Which leads me to believe the next time I call for an appointment, I should request the most pissed off stylist.

And since I know you're dying to see, here's the before picture:



And here's the after:

But not really.

Ebbing and Flowing

There's an ebb and flow to blogging.

There's been a lot of ebbing and not a lot of flowing going on around this little blog.

I have a lot of excuses. I had a cold. There was a child with a cold. Then there was a husband with cold.

'Nuff said about that.

Oh, and we were out shopping for alternative transportation of the non eggplant kind. And, BOOOYA! We found one.

I never thought I could be so excited about spending money. And about spending money on a minivan. On a 6 year old minivan. That is not purple.

I know many people get rid of their vehicles when they get to the great age of 6. There's a lot of people who probably think that my euphoria is uncalled for. I mean, where's the zing in a 6 year old minivan? Even if it's not purple.

Well, those people were not driving a 13 year old purple minivan.

Everything in life is relative. A full fridge and pantry that's the norm to one person is only a dream to many others. A house full of kids can be frustrating and cause a harried mom to pray to God for just one quiet moment to herself. But a childless woman prays to God to take away all the quietness in her life, and replace it with a child.

Rough patches in life make us appreciate the good.

The bad helps us to clarify what 'good' really is.

It's tough when you're in the middle of all the crap, but truly helps us to be grateful for the 6 year old minivan. That's full of children and groceries.

Ah, the ebb and flow of life. It's a wonderful thing.

Ode to My 30's

Today is my last day in the decade known as my '30's.

It feels about the same way as the day before a scheduled root canal. It's a day you've been dreading for weeks, stewing over, trying to think of any excuse you can to skip the appointment, but eventually have to come to the conclusion that you best just get it over with.

Except I've never had a root canal. I prefer to just let my teeth fall out. I've got a little problem going on with the dentist.

But I think that's probably what it would feel like.

The past 10 years have been pretty awesome. A lot of stuff happened. Mostly good, some bad. A fair amount of Griswold luck. We bought our first home and added two more children into our brood. I've worked, I've stayed home, I've learned how to bake pumpkin scones.

I parented for a full 10 years with the occasional vacation paired with food poisoning. I discovered that marriage gets better as you both get older and 'mature' (snort!).

I aged 10 years. I think I'm officially a grown up. At least I think I should be since I'm going to be officially middle aged.

I'm going to miss being 39.

But there's lots to look forward to in my 40's.

The Eldest graduating.

The Baby starting school.

Going back to work.

The Boy graduating.

Vacations.

Menopause.

My boobs falling down to my stretch marks.

Dentures.

Weddings.

Grandchildren.

Oh, god, I just threw up in my mouth.

I'm going to go have a cry, then apply some moisturizer to my crows feet.

And go enjoy my last day of being in my thirties by taking the Princess ice skating and hopefully not breaking my bum hip.

Sunrise....Sunset.....

This little girl.......

Is now this big girl........

And I left her sitting in a room, with fear on her face, mouthing to me "STAY! STAY! PLEASE!" as the teacher told the parents to leave. It was time for the teacher to take the children to their new grade one classrooms.

I faked a big smile and mouthed back to her, "You'll be fine! It's ok!! Have fun!!"

And I booked it out of the classroom, not able to walk down the hall with the other parents to check the lists to find out what class she was in. The tears started. How did my baby get old enough to be left alone in school ALL DAY?? Yet another milestone reached in her life.

I did get it together after a few minutes to go back and check the list. Eilidh has the teacher she wanted and her bestest friend is there with her. It's good. All good. But I still can't believe my little girl is not so little anymore.

There's this girl too.....

Who is now looking at these........

Because this is her last year of high school.

There are lots more tears to be shed over her.

And let's not forget this one......

Who has grown a full inch in the last month, half of that over the long weekend. Sigh.

At least I have this one.....

Still at home with me.

We're going to go for a walk in the September sunshine, where you can feel the change in the air.

It's everywhere. Change. In the weather, the trees, the air.....my children.

Today is a tough day to be a Pisces.

Changes

There's nothing like the start of a school year around the long weekend corner to spur some changes.

Me starting to blog again is one.

Eilidh sporting a new smile is another.

Getting Keeley's hair cut is one more. I almost cried. OK!! I cried....but just a bit. I didn't embarrass Kaitlyn too much.

How cute is that?!

And I can't wait for Tuesday. 9 am.

God bless the teachers.