Like a wave it hit me in... Costco.  My husband and I were walking through the store. (We're not members so buying wasn't an option.)  We had permission to look, so we looked.
We looked at TV's, blenders, wines, furniture, shirts, toothpastes, vegetables, books and more.  When we walked up to the women's vests, memories of shopping at Sam's Club in Grand Forks with Mom, Jane, Sue, and Stacey suddenly swept over me.
We would shop, laugh and try on silly Sam's Club 'road kill' vests and take pictures and laugh more (or literally snort) till we were silly.  I tried on a vest, had Tom take a picture of me and sent it to my sisters-in-law and that trigger set me off.  For the rest of the day I felt like crying for the absence of my Mom.  I cried at lunch at the Mexican restaurant in the mall with Tom, I cried in the afternoon at home and I cried on the deck as we ate our dinner.  Tom talked me through it, but crying happened and crying is sometimes ugly.
I can tell you that losing someone, a mom, is harder than you can know.  Cry.  Just cry, and then cry a little more.
Here's the deal...My Mom was amazing.  My Mom was awesome, fabulous, loving, cool, fun, pretty, kind, classy, and so much more.  She was my Mom.  Her absence is devastating.  Today was profoundly devastating.  But tomorrow I'll move on with the confidence that she gave me and convinced me I had, to do whatever I must do.  I'm my mother's daughter and she would expect me to be victorious over emotions and issues that might stop me from doing what I know she would have me do.  Succeed.  No excuses.  Go!

Back to School

The blue Honda Civic pulls down the gravel driveway.  Our youngest son enthusiastically moves away to college for his last year.  A bit of gravel dust floats in the air above the road as I stand waving till long after he's out of sight and tears push at the insides of my eyes.  Now what?

This might have been his last summer at home.  Of course we want him to graduate, get a job, find love, success, happiness, joy, community, and financial freedom.  We are, after-all, supposed to raise our children to leave us.  Right?  That's the plan, the design, the goal.

I sit on the couch with the sleeping dog at my feet inside the quiet house.  For a few minutes I feel sort of sick inside.  Its too quiet.  There really is only the sound of the mantel clock ticking and the air conditioning fan.  

And then, bam, the front door opens and he's back!  In all the packing, he has forgotten his wallet.  So he's in the house, running up the stairs to his room to find the wallet and zipping back down stairs with a smile.  He accepts my extra hug and shoots out the front door into his car.  He's gone, but he'll be back for many more hugs on many more summer days.  He just won't necessarily "live" here.  Or maybe he will.

There are job market issues for many college grads.  There are boomerang kids.   We may or may not have those issues.  But today we've said goodbye and experienced the last "back to school" event for our family.  So we hugged and waved and had another moment when the tears wouldn't stay away as the dust again floated in the air above the driveway.

He's gone again, back to school.

Perfect and Priceless

Mom's gone.  She passed away, passed on, expired, moved on, left us, ceased to exist, gone to meet her Maker, bought the farm, assumed room temperature, kicked the bucket, in a better place, pushing up daisies, singing with the angels - died.  There's no good way to say it.  And yet I forget.  In an exciting moment I'll think: "I've got to tell Mom!"  But it's actually, "I've got to tell M....."  Then Sadness.  Deep Sadness.  Shocking, paralyzing, deep, painful sadness.  She was my Mom and was perfect and priceless to me, and she's gone.

Reality requires that we must deal with death.
We must continue to live, while a big part has died.  A big part.
So we deal.
We live.

Living means dealing with the stuff left behind.  Mom is gone, but her stuff isn't.
Dad needs help so we're going up there next month to help him deal with her stuff.
It's painful to think of going through her things without her.
She has a lot of very nice things, none of which she designated to be given to a certain person.

Mom was an artist and had a lot of nice paintings.  She collected china, glassware, baskets, antiques, books and more.  She also had a lot of fine jewelry.  That's where this process gets emotional for me, but not like you might think.

Mom has already given me everything that I could ever have wanted or needed.  She loved me, taught me, believed in me, cherished me, loved who I loved even when I was weak or immature.  She coached me, honored me, waited for me, cheered me on, questioned me, held me, disciplined me, cautioned me, helped me, directed me, demanded of me what she knew I could give, grieved with me, surprised me, advised me, showed me, saw me, heard me, had patience with me, and gave me everything I could ever have needed.

But if I could have one thing of moms, it would be the pearl bracelet that our precious daughter-in-law Brittany wore when she married our son Andy last Spring.  It was Brittany's "something borrowed."  Mom let me borrow it when I married Tom too.  Dad gave it to Mom on their wedding day 61 years ago.  I would want that pearl bracelet, but not for me, for Brittany.  Its perfect and priceless in a way that's hard to describe -- just like Mom, and she's already given me everything I could possibly need.