Dear Mom,
It’s pouring outside again. We’ve been getting flash flood alerts off and on for weeks… the rain hasn’t eased up much in between either. You’d probably hate it here. I don’t usually mind it, though. I used to love the rain.
I feel sad a lot… and hate trying to come up with reasons that ‘make more sense’ for people to hear… ones that are also true... dreary weather… pregnancy blues… the overwhelming discomfort of these last weeks before the baby is here… lack of sleep… all more palatable than, “I just really miss my Mom and don’t always know how to compartmentalize the emotions in a way that keeps me behaving sociably”. It’s not even one of those things that you can just ‘talk out’. There’s only so much someone can say—and even then, it doesn’t really help.
I wouldn’t know what to say to me either… so I try not to put other people into the situation where they have to try to figure out what to say to make it seem better… which leads to self-isolation… and the resulting guilt from inadvertently distancing myself from everyone in an effort to spare them from grief… “it’s probably just the pregnancy hormones” … I try to convince myself, too.
“Rainy Days and Mondays” came on. You loved this song. The Carpenters. It fits. I used to think your singing voice sounded a lot like hers. You were just more self-conscious. I blame the nuns.
This morning marked Aria’s 100th day of school for this year. Her teacher said they could dress up like they’re 100 years old. You remember her outfit last year… the flowery/lace-collared mustard-colored dress with matching white sweater, big pearls, powder-haired bun, babushka, clip-on earrings, and round tortoise-shell glasses… She didn’t want to do that this year. She was going to wear a dress, the necklace, and the costume glasses, but she opted out of them saying, “I know Nonnie wasn’t 100 years old, but she didn’t wear glasses except for reading, so I’m not going to wear them today either.” They think about you a lot.
Nothing is the same anymore... not even the rain. I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
Dear Mom,
I finally listened to the voicemail you left for me back in August.
It'll be the first year without the traditional duet from you and Dad (that I always looked forward to) and I ached to hear your voice.
I miss you more than my heart can express... I love you too. ♡
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I broke down last night when Trissy surprised me with a few special gifts you had been working on together specifically for the night before our wedding... including another Montgomery Moose... like the one you sent with me to school in first grade because you couldn't be there and I was nervous... like the very same one we tucked into your casket with you less than two months ago so you wouldn't be scared about being alone.
For as wonderful as today is... and for as happy as I am... it also still hurts.
I'll tell you more about everything later... 4 o'clock waits for no one.
I bet you'll be beautiful, too. I can't wait.
I miss you, Mom.
We all do. So much.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
I had a dream about you last night. My first one since that nightmare last month... this was actually a dream, though... or part of one, at least. So much of it was abstract... hidden armoires underneath the floor boards of a random building, an elevator of sorts that was more like its own structure... so many fleeting forgotten mirages of the imagination... and then there was you.
The scene shifted. We were at Grammy's house. Jenn was sitting on Grammy's old recliner--the one Grammy would fall asleep in while watching her soaps... the one with the sort of tight knit upholstery texture with mixtures of dark sienna and aged mustard micro-patterns woven into it... or at least that's how my memory has it stored. The recliner didn't quite match the carpet, but it didn't clash either. It was a constant. And Jenn was sitting in it. I don't know the relevance, but that's how it was.
You were there, too... sitting in a chair right where the lamp table used to be... the one that housed her 'newfangled' phone with all of its preset speed dial buttons and the safety alert station. I remember how fancy I thought it was... it had probably over 30 numbers programmed into it and at the press of a little grey rubbery button, your call was on its way through. Of course, if you forgot to press the 'shift' button, you'd accidentally call the wrong person... Grammy did that a lot.
I don't remember the context of the scenario... I think Jenn and I were working on some sort of project... but the project didn't matter.
You didn't speak at all the entire time, but you were present. You observed. It was significant somehow.
For a while, everything seemed normal... but then I looked over and you had found a confetti popper--like the ones for the 4th of July--except instead of paper streamers, ornate cut-out snowflakes gleamed down over our heads. It was beautiful. You stared up as they shimmered, marveling at their intricacy.
Even in my dream, I felt the tugging ache of missing you, but I didn't know yet that I already had been. I had this sinking feeling like I was going to lose you soon... so I got up from where I sat and leaned in to wrap my arms around you for a hug... I remember thinking, "I need to hug her all I can now because she won't be here to comfort me like this forever."
I backed up just far enough to see you-- tears welling in your eyes, streaming down your face... like you already knew there wasn't much time...
I wasn't ready for it to end though... I wanted to rest my head on your shoulder and listen to the reassurance of your breaths... to hug you until I felt the safe comfort of simply being near, knowing that everything would be okay because you were still there.
But it was 6 o'clock and the blaring sound of my alarm wrenched me away. I pressed "snooze". I thought that maybe if I closed my eyes again, I could siphon just a few more minutes of time with you--even if just in a dream. It didn't work.I miss you, Mom. Thank you for the hug.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Today is the first day I find myself actually alone since you’ve been gone. I thought I’d be handling it better. That seems to be the case a lot lately, actually… the thinking I’d handle something better than I actually do.
I heard an ice cream truck drive by and remembered the days at Grammy’s house on Hayes Street when we’d play “My Car, Your Car” and see the ice cream truck moseying along. Sometimes we’d have leftover pocket change from the corner store for a treat… or Grammy would slip us each a few coins to go pick something out if we’d been well behaved.
I’d usually choose the red, white, and blue popsicle… or the flavor-of-the-week ice cream shaped like a random popular cartoon character.
I told myself that if I heard the ice cream truck go by again today, I’d go outside and choose something–even if it seemed weird that I didn’t have any children with me.
But I didn’t anticipate reaction time for the current situation of how long it takes me to waddle around with a baby bump… and before I could get to the door, the familiar song had already faded off down the street.
Yeah, I teared up. Over ice cream I wasn’t even hungry for… or perhaps it was over a few memories I couldn’t get back.
I went to call you today… so many times… to update you about Aria’s first day back to school since before the pandemic… to talk about the weekend… to see how you’re doing and if you and Dad still get to sit up on the deck and watch the birds at the feeders with Ranger leaping around energetically, scaring them away… and when I couldn’t, I cried for that too.
I thought I’d be doing better today, but it seems like I keep getting choked up over the little things all connecting back to this massive crevice in my heart without you here.
So far it’s been a missed ice cream truck, a knitted baby blanket in the wrong shape… again, a gas tank, a plastic cup in the driveway, incomplete calls, and so many thoughts cascading through my mind without anywhere to land. I’ve never missed anyone so much, Mom.
Dear Mom,
Today is a really hard day without you... not that saying so separates today from all of the other really hard days without you.
My soul knows you're in a better place, my heart wishes you were still here, and my mind is furious at everything and nothing-- all at the same time-- because you're not. And I know that's selfish. I just want to call you. I keep wanting to call you. I miss your advice. I miss your nagging. I miss subconsciously rolling my eyes at everything I already knew you were going to say before you opened your mouth to say it. I even miss you telling me when I'm wrong. Because it was still you. Weighing in. Being present.
There are so many big decisions in my life right now... and little ones too... like, "How long do you think we should wait before we set the date?" "Wouldn't 'Tiffany blue' be a lovely color for the baby's nursery?" "What would you do if..." "Which outfit fits better on me?" "How would you handle this important situation?" "Should I use spaghetti noodles or rigatoni?"
For all of the birthdays, Mother's Days, Valentine's Days, Thanksgivings, Christmases, and other special times throughout the years when I've told you you're irreplaceable... I couldn't have meant it more. You truly are.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Dear Mom,
The visitor wristband from September 24th came apart in the shower this morning.
I guess it was time.
I miss you; I don't see that ever changing.
Love always,
"Pookie"
It feels weird to say “happy birthday” to him when I know that it’s not natural for him to be happy without you. You’ve never missed a birthday since the two of you have known each other… over 40 years.
I’m happy he was born. Without his birthday, he wouldn’t be here (obviously), I wouldn’t be here… the girls wouldn’t be here… and our lives wouldn’t exist as we know them… but it’s difficult to see silver linings when the sunshine is hidden away from the clouds. Reflections need light.
Today also marks Norah’s 20 weeks… and as Bon Jovi would say, “Whooooah, we’re half way there… whooo-OAH… livin’ on a prayer!”
20 more weeks (give or take) until we get to meet her. She’s 10 inches long and about the size of an axolotl (I had to look it up).
I wonder if you’ve somehow ‘met’ her already… I’m not quite sure how that works exactly, but I know you’re looking out for us. I can feel it.
We already love our mini-girl so much and were able to feel her rolling around and kicking last night.
Machaela said that she’s going to teach her everything she knows and train her to be her protégé. Aria said that she’s going to be the best big sister ever and she’s going to be nicer to her than Machaela is. I think they’re both going to do just fine when she’s here and holdable. They are always sure to include her in conversation… it’s the sweetest thing. You’d be proud.
I started knitting Norah’s blanket the other day… I work on it one row at a time when I can sneak a couple minutes away from life’s typical chaos. I hope it’ll turn out alright.
It won’t be as comforting as your lullabies or as warm as your hugs, but it’s a start.
Narration. [sorry about the baby farts in the background…*spoiler alert*]
Dear Mom,
I tried to alter my perspective a bit this weekend. I've been sad so often... and I still am... but instead of dwelling on all of the moments in life we are forced to experience WITHOUT you, I've been trying to focus on all of the subtleties and joys in life I'm able to notice and appreciate BECAUSE of you. Time with family... silly jokes with the girls... bonding with my sisters over your favorite recipes... they're not to be overlooked.
On Friday night, we went to a drive-in movie with friends... even sang in the car with the windows rolled down on the way there... like we used to before. When I packed the car to get ready, I tried to think ahead and bring enough blankets, pillows, and snacks for everyone... plus a few extra sweatshirts... just like you would've. "Be prepared for everything," right? It had me thinking about how you made motherhood look effortless.
When Aria wanted to snuggle instead of watch parts of the movie (even though I had never seen it before), I remembered your selflessness... always putting your children first... even in the little things.
On Saturday, we started gutting our pumpkins to prepare them for being carved (the girls were grossed out by the sliminess at first... it was amusing) and accepted an invite to our friends' house for a BBQ.
As the girls were eating baked beans that night, they started singing the "Beanie Weenies" song that you taught them... even though there weren't any hot dogs. They thought of you. Your granddaughters miss you a lot too.
I also started knitting Norah's blanket--or trying to. I know I could just buy her one... that it would take much less time that way, but the true gift is in the sentiment. The first baby blanket I ever made was when I was pregnant with Machaela, the second, with Aria, and now this one, for Norah Jane... each using different materials and techniques to symbolize the uniqueness of each child.
You taught me fairness. You taught me that love and effort is more precious than superficiality. You taught me that life is beautiful in all its many forms.
Yesterday, we went to church together. We were a few minutes late, but for the first time, I didn't mind. Nathan surprised me with being able to sleep in and instructed the girls not to wake me up until after he finished making us all a nice hearty breakfast. We sat down to eat together and talk for a while. It didn't even bother me this time that we were a little late for church... I was surrounded by God's love in our home.
Afterwards, we came back to finish our pumpkins. Nate taught Aria how to use an electric leaf blower and she helped him with the yard... even raking a few leaf piles to run through and jump in. Machaela helped gather some pecans from under the trees and grumbled at the squirrels for wasting food [They'd chew holes through the tops of the shells and toss them aside]. I loved hearing them laugh and giggle.
It was sunny and beautiful. At one point, Nathan found a lovely shell by the garden and showed it to the girls... but there was a catch... it wasn't empty! They rinsed it off to discover the biggest garden snail any of us had ever seen! You'd have loved their fascination with their newfound creature friend. They named him "Gary" and he's going to stay with us for a while. You'd approve.
We hear the wind chimes a lot when the breezes trickle through... the girls say, "Hi Nonnie! We love you too!" every time. Sometimes Aria even chimes them back. It's a comfort. You loved the outdoors more than anywhere else. So many things remind me of you. Even in my children... even sometimes in myself, too. More comfort.
I'm learning that perspective relies heavily on our choice of preposition. Some days, I'm sure I will still feel like we're without you... but even on the loneliest of days, your presence, love, and memory is still within us and around us in all of the little things we do.
This week, we'll be following your home roasted pumpkin seed recipe.
I miss you, Mom. We all do.
Love always,
"Pookie"
[P.S.- I shared your recipe for my friends to try too. I know you wouldn't mind... you loved being able to help others.] ♡
Dear Mom,
I think you'd be smirking at my facetious antics. The girls, Nate, and I have been spending time the past couple days carving pumpkins together.
Aria's has flowers, hearts, and a peace sign, Machaela carved a chinchilla into hers, and Nathan said his is going to be Mario.
I had no idea what design to cut into my pumpkin canvas. Nate suggested "Peach" to go with his Mario Bros theme. The girls agreed. I didn't have any better ideas of my own, so I obliged.
I worked really hard on it and was honestly kind of impressed with the outcome. Smooth lines, decent shapes... it was easily the best one I'd ever carved... but when I showed them the finished result, they didn't seem as thrilled with my efforts as I was. They rolled their eyes and said it looks nothing like her. 😆
I hereby present to you, "Princess Peach" (and your favorite fruit). I still think it's my best pumpkin masterpiece to date, regardless.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie"
Kaleidoscopic Grace 