Dear Mom,
I drank tea from your mug today. Well… my mug. But I still consider it yours.
I woke up a bit early this morning—with just enough time to try to clear my head before it was time to wake the girls and get them ready for the day. I tried to make tea the way you always did. “Nonnie Tea” (coined lovingly as such by Aria around 2017… before that, it was always just “hot tea the way Mom always makes it”)…but I didn’t have any Lipton tea bags, so I tried to improvise with a generic sort. It didn’t taste the same… not even from your mug… well, my mug… but I still consider it yours.
You know the one. The blatantly fraternal replacement for my favorite mug. The teddy bear one that you gave me. It was matte stone-fired and rustic looking with three thick bands of subtle earthy gradient… smooth to the touch—as if worn and weathered, not from glaze. I would have thought that it was made by an ancient tribe had it not been for the circular applique blended into the surface with a plush teddy bear drawn on top. Quaint. Classic. Sturdy. I loved it.
You let me take to school when I was in 6th grade… the first year Jenn was out of the house and I felt like I didn’t have my biggest sister in my life much anymore. In English class, we were allowed to keep a mug in the cabinet for when we would have hot chocolate days.
That was also the year that I wore your old hand-knit (or at least it appeared as such) gaudy sweater to school every day. I didn’t care about my reputation. That year brought a heavy weight of transition—switching churches, my oldest sister leaving home, you and Dad working all of those extra hours with me ‘stuck’ at home with Tris—who wasn’t exactly the nicest to me at the time (overstatement). [Thankfully, we usually get along much better now.] It was just a lot. When you’re a kid, you don’t really understand the “why” behind the decisions your parents make. I didn’t understand then. I do now, though.
Fast-forward a bunch of years… I heard you in the kitchen washing dishes… presumably dancing around to Van Morrison’s “Whenever God Shines His Light” … or another one of your favorites… when mid-chorus, there was a shatter. And perhaps an uttered expletive… or a sound-alike expletive—it was anyone’s guess, but only you know. To my horror, my favorite mug… the teddy bear one… the one you said looked like “Pookie Bear” from Garfield (and therefore, reminded you of me) … there it lie in a scattered heap of barely-recognizable shards. The mug that got me through the complexities of 6th grade and all subsequent heartbreak up until that point. Unrepairable.
It’s strange how moments that seemed vibrantly pinnacle back then tend to pale over the years… as others that might have seemed trivial step into the foreground. Ages ago, it was about the mug. Now, it’s about the look of remorse on your face after something so special to me was broken. I still remember it.
You offered one of your favorite cups to me as a replacement. That was always your way though… giving the best of yourself to try to heal the brokenness in the lives of those you love.
So, I drank tea from your mug today… and although it didn’t taste the same, I still felt your warmth and the way you always sacrificed the best of yourself to mend the brokenness in us.
I miss you terribly.
Love always,
“Pookie”
My Mom’s favorite song to dance and sing to while she was washing the dishes. This is the song from the memory.
Dear Mom,
This morning started off rough. I was feeling discouraged about trying to get the girls up, dressed, fed, and ready for their classes for the day. You know how Aria isn’t a morning person at all… and Machaela sometimes needs to be reminded repeatedly before remembering the basics… like brushing her hair out of its perpetual Merida-look… and lately I feel like I’ve been forgetting everything…
When Nate went to hug me before leaving for work, he saw the frown I was trying to hide and wanted to cheer me up… so he pouted and lightly pinched my cheeks (the ones on my face, mind you… I already know what you were going to say if I didn’t specify), saying, “Don’t be sad, Pookie Pie… it’ll be okay” and then pulled me in for a hug.
Well, somewhere between “Pookie Pie…” and the hug, I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I could hear your voice in my head singing the lullaby you made up for me when I was a baby and have since adapted for each grandchild. “Pookie pie lullaby, little one don’t you cry…"
I know I’m 32 now, but I’d still have given anything in those moments to have been rocked back and forth to your voice singing to me again. And then, as if that wasn’t enough … my mind connected that thought to knowing that you won’t be able to sing our lullaby to Norah… or swaddle her… or rock her to sleep… and even as I’m writing this, the tears are coming back. I can’t even imagine one of my children not getting the chance to know you the way the rest of us do.
Sometimes I’m okay. Today hasn’t really been one of those sometimeses though. I’m keeping it together well enough though. Functioning. Autopilot override when necessary. If it weren’t for the girls mentioning about being hungry (like 527,391 times a day… you know how kids are), I might forget to eat.
Someone asked me today how I feel. I replied, “bland.”
I didn’t even think about it until after I hit send, but it’s about as accurate of a word as any.
Bland…
That’s not to say that I don’t have so many things to be thankful for. That’s not to say that I don’t have anything to look forward to or any joys in life anymore. I do. I have so many wonderful people in my life and so much to look forward to… but for now it all just feels bland without you.
I wanted to call you today… because you’re the one I’d always call when I was sad… but not being able to call you anymore to hear your voice is the reason why I’m sad… I still haven’t listened to that twelve second voicemail you left on August 22nd. I don’t think I’m ready to yet. I feel like I have to ration my thoughts about you, so I don’t fall apart.
Writing to you helps. I think. I don’t know how I’d be if I didn’t write it out though. You always encouraged me to write my heart no matter what anyone else said or thought about it. So, I will. Sharing helps.
I feel bad for not being ready to really talk about it too much in individual conversation with people though. Everyone has been so encouraging and all I can seem to muster up in response are ‘care’ emojis. I’ve started trying to type out how much the outpouring of love means to me… how my heart warms just to read the comments, advice, and personal stories… but it just sounds so robotic of me to say even though I mean it genuinely. So, I deleted them… my replies. I think that people understand. I don’t know what to say. I just don’t have the words right now. And I think that’s okay. I’ll get there.
I’m fairly certain it was Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel who mentioned something profound in her book, “Treasures in Tragedy” about grief not being linear… I wish I could remember the exact quote… whatever it was, I understand it now.
I think I’ll make spaghetti for dinner. I should write it on a post-it note so I don’t forget.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
My Mom’s favorite song that was featured on her favorite movie, “Somewhere in Time”
Dear Mom,
It’s Sunday. I have a newfound appreciation for the expert way you’d wrangle Jenn, Tris, and I together to help us get ready—and yourself—to leave the house early enough for us to get to church on time… Whenever we’re the first ones ready, I hear you saying, “All your father has to do is get himself ready and he’s STILL the last one out!” I think I might have even said something similar to the girls today too… but about Nate. I thought of you.
I wanted to go to church today, but at the same time, I had a feeling that Pastor Trent or the worship team, or SOMEONE would say something that would just set off the tears I’d been holding back. You know how I hate crying around people. I almost cried during praise and worship when we sang, “We’re gonna’ see a victory! We’re gonna’ see a victory! For the battle belongs to the Lord!...”
The last time we sang that song was two weeks ago, but it meant something different to me then. Two weeks ago, I was praying that song in my heart, sobbing at the altar for your healing. Last Sunday, Dad, Jenn, Tris, and I were at the funeral home making plans for your burial.
On the surface, this Sunday didn’t feel like we’d seen much of a victory—at least not in the way I prayed for. I felt bad for even thinking that. I almost wrote out a prayer request not to be mad at God for not answering my prayers the way I believed He would.
And then, the musicians started playing a song Machaela introduced me to months ago that she heard in youth group that really spoke to me. Do you remember “Way Maker”? I had you listen to it before. And played it for you in the hospital. And again, at your funeral service. I had never heard the worship team play it before during Sunday service, but they did today.
Part of it goes like this:
Way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper Light in the darkness My God, that is who You are Even when I don’t see it, You’re working Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working You never stop, You never stop working You never stop, You never stop working
“Way Maker” – Leeland
I don’t know why God chose not to work a miracle in your healing here on Earth. I know that I’ve felt betrayed—like He broke His promise… and I still struggle with that emotion sometimes and have to remind myself that even though I don’t always see or feel it, He’s working in our lives.
They played the song again at the end of service too… I really needed to hear it again. And this time, as I sang with my eyes closed, trying to hold back tears… I felt such a warm, compassionate hug. I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know which of my church sisters it was. And I’m telling you, Mom, that if nothing else, I needed to be there today for that hug. And that song. And for Pastor Trent to talk about the importance of praise—even when you feel like you’re stuck in a rut, or in a pit… surrounded by darkness. In the midst of it all, sing praise.
I’ve been noticing a lot of things about myself lately that remind me of you. Even some of the things I never used to understand—or even be slightly irritated over as a kid… guess what… I do them too. Like today, after church… after we got home and the girls started audibly getting on each other’s nerves… I heard you doing that thing you’d always do when Tris and I would argue and your patience was running thin… the casual prayer voice… “God, give me patience with these WONDERFUL children You gave me…” except I was the one saying it. And they were the ones looking at me like I had twelve heads.
I get it now. It wasn’t easy raising three girls whose personalities tended to clash at the most inconvenient times. If you prayed for me to be able to understand those struggles ‘one day’… I guess God answered that one because that’s about to be me too… Well played, Mom… well played.
I miss you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
This is the actual version of the song… not my half-singing between tears version.
Dear Mom,
You didn’t know this, but on September 20th… around 3 A.M., I couldn’t sleep. I was upset about something personal and didn’t know how to work it out in my mind. So, I started writing again… for the first time in a while. You were in the hospital at the time. Bilateral pneumonia… and then they found bacterial infections in your blood. They couldn’t identify all the different strains. The doctors were scrambling trying to figure out the best course of action.
When I sat down to write, there hadn’t been any update in a while. I thought, “Okay, well no news is good news, so I’ll wait as patiently as possible.” [You know how well that works out in our family though… do we get that from the Slovak side? Probably.]
My journal entry started out with updates from the months I hadn’t written… then turned into unburdening my heart of all of the thoughts weighing it down… but somehow on the lines of page 4, my unburdening started turning into a prayer. It’s been on my heart again today.
I’m so thankful for your examples of humility. For teaching us that it’s okay to be human. It’s okay to be imperfect. It’s okay not to have it all figured out. Because I’m undoubtedly imperfect. And I certainly don’t have it all figured out.
So around 3 A.M. on September 20th, I poured my thoughts out into my journal… and somewhere in the midst of page four, I started to pray:
“Please help us, God. I know you have a purpose for us… I know and trust that You want what is best for our lives—even when we don’t know what that is ourselves… maybe even especially then. I’m sorry for all the times I fail. I’m sorry for all of the times “meaning well” didn’t translate to “doing well”. Thank You for loving me even when I fall short. Heal my heart & make it more Yours than ever before. Revive my spirit with Your holy breath of life & recalibrate my focus to align with Your will. Mold our lives into testaments of Your glory & knit our family together with the strength of Your love. Holy Spirit be my conscience… be my compass… Lord, help me lead by Your example & be the woman of God my family needs. Help me to resist temptation to falter, be discouraged, or guilted out of Your mercy. I want to love my family with the love You have for us. Thank You for even the things I haven’t seen… the times You’ve upheld us & have kept Your angels watching over us. Thank You for being a God who answers prayer. Help me to worship You selflessly & live my life the same way… to glorify You in everything I do. Thank You for giving us the fruits of the spirit & the armor of God… help us to use our gifts wisely. Thank You for providing for us & for our loved ones & healing our bodies, hearts, minds, & spirits. I know I didn’t start writing in here at 3 AM expecting it to turn into a prayer, but I’m thankful it did. Thank You for hearing me, loving me, understanding me, and always being there for me—even when I’m stubborn & prideful & get things all wrong… and thank you for putting it in my heart to write. Help me learn to use my gifts in a way that brings glory to You. Help me love You more. That is the first step… and lots of patience… for myself & others. In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.”
Right after I signed my name, my phone rang. It was Dad. He called me to say that they had to connect more tubes and machines to you. I tried to be encouraging… “That’s good news in a way, isn’t it? It means they have a plan of action to start getting the fluid out of her lungs.” I choked back tears, hoping he didn’t hear the unsteadiness in my voice. It was a test. It just had to be. What is the likelihood of signing off on a written prayer and—within seconds—getting a call that early in the morning?
I still don’t know “Why?” or what it all means. But even though there is still confusion, there is also clarity. It’s okay for the concepts to coexist…just like grief, acceptance, and joy. I feel them all.
Mom, you taught me to cast my cares. You taught me to look up. You taught me to trust in God and you tried so hard to break me from my stubborn perfectionism getting in the way—and hopefully, it’s finally starting to sink in. What can I say… I’m still a perpetual work in progress.
The girls miss you a lot. Aria prays for you every night still. Since September 25, though, instead of praying for your healing, she prays for you to have good adventures in Heaven. She wants to know if you’ve found Eliot there yet and if he’s behaving himself. She said it’s okay if he’s your pet now.
I know that some days will be harder than others, but today I’m okay.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
One of my Mom’s favorite songs that has always made me cry… ever since I was a little girl.
Dear Mom,
We're almost back home already. So many times, I kept catching myself starting to message you to let you know which state we were in... the way you always asked us to. I heard "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" on the radio and started tearing up. A bunch of songs do that now. I think that's normal.
I saw another "PJ" vehicle... but this time it was on mud flaps instead of as a decal. We passed a huge South of the Border entertainment center right across the SC state line. You would have hated it. There weren't any trees. You'd have said that you like Knoebels better because of the shade.
Nate is trying his best to cheer me up. Everyone is. You have some great family and friends... I guess they're my friends too though. We're lucky.
You'd have loved to see everyone yesterday. I know that I did. It was kind of weird though because I didn't really know what to say when people apologized. I think I said "thank you" a lot... In hindsight, that doesn't really make sense, but I think they all understood. I didn't cry. Not even when we were standing at the cemetery. Something else happened though...
You know how you casually mentioned (after just about every funeral we ever went to together) that I should sing at your funeral [and then I'd reprimand you for being morbid]? Well, after my 'speech,' I typed and printed out the lyrics to a chorus of a song that was on my heart; I know that when I'm nervous sometimes my mind goes blank and didn't want to forget them. I prayed, "God, I know my Mom would probably want this included, but You know how deeply nervous I get in front of people... if You want me to sing this, let me know somehow and I'll do it... even if it's between tears." After I spoke at the podium, I just went back to my seat... it wasn't the right time.
After the service was over and we were at the cemetery, after Pastor Angelo said a prayer, there were a few moments of silence. I tried to work up my nerve, but couldn't seem to. And just as I was about to open my mouth, Pastor led everyone in a chorus of "Amazing Grace"... transitioning right into the exact portion of the exact song I had typed out at the end of your eulogy... what are the odds? Did you have something to do with that?
You'd have been so proud of Dad. Of Jenn. Of Tris. All of the grandkids. So many people showed up because of you--even with a pandemic going on... and so many others followed along with the live video. Goodness, you are loved so much, Mom. I'm proud to be yours. No one had a single bad word to say about you [I was glad I took out the part in my speech about you having 8/9 fruits of the spirit on a regular basis... it was going to be a joke about patience... especially when it came to traffic patterns and wanting people to answer questions faster... it was meant to be funny. You'd have laughed if you heard the context.]...
I have to tell you more about all of the wonderful people who jumped in to help and make sure we're okay... but I'll save that for later. Less than 2 hours until we're back home.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
"Pookie" ♡
I'm sorry for any confusion; there really hasn't been an appropriate time to make a special announcement with everything going on the past few months... so we were going to wait a while longer.
But my Mom's writeup in the "Morning Call" sort of made the announcement for us.
My Mom would have wanted it written that way, though. She believed that each life is precious right from the start... even before birth [and so do I]. She was already excited to meet her newest grandbaby in 2021... we talked about different name suggestions and their meanings; she was never bashful about telling me which combinations sounded weird or if the potential initials/monogram would spell out an uncouth acronym.
While I stood next to my Mom's bedside early Thursday morning, I leaned over to whisper the name we chose for our little girl. So, yes... "Norah Jane" is ours... and she is named after the most remarkable woman I've ever known... Patty Jane Terry. ♡
Before I start, I just wanted to mention a few disclaimers:
I’m not a public speaker. I’m also probably going to cry at some point although I’m hoping to get through saying all of this without that happening. We’ll see how it goes.
First of all, thank you for your presence. For listening. For caring. For your patience. For understanding… or at least trying to. This all still feels so surreal. I’ve never lost my Mom before; I don’t really know how I’m meant to behave and since she’s not here to scold me, thank you all for withholding judgment and for bearing with me… well, for bearing with all of us as we process such a gravitational loss.
You know, you don’t really realize how grammatically strange it is to speak about someone in the present who has passed… until it becomes relevant. The tenses get all tangled up… the “was”s and “is”s get mixed together and it’s really difficult to navigate which one to use while still making sense. But then again, not too much makes sense right now.
I know that’s supposed to be her over there. My Mom. I know the doctors said that she ‘passed away’ … and I know that I was there. I saw it. Parts of me even died with her… in the literal sense, too. But it hasn’t really clicked yet.
It’s only been 5 days… Already, I’ve cycled through a spectrum of emotion I hadn’t even realized existed. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been so resentful in my life. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for her healing. So many of us did. All over the world. For months. For years, even…
But when the answer didn’t come the way I expected, I felt lied to. I felt betrayed. I felt abandoned. Did you? In a span of mere minutes, my thoughts went from, “God, I know You’re here and You’ve got this under control.” to “God, where were You? Did You blink and miss it? What happened back there? Why did You let her go?”
But what I’m starting to realize is that He didn’t let her go… Instead, He held onto her and pulled her closer… to Him—even if that means that she’s farther away from us for a while. Our prayers were answered. She’s not in pain anymore. And the only reason we are is because we were so abundantly blessed to have her presence in our lives that her physical absence leaves such a heart wrenching ache. She is still alive in so many other remarkable ways.
When I look in the casket, I don’t see my Mom. That’s not her likeness at all. My Mom was much louder. [Ask anyone who has ever overheard a phone conversation between her and any one of her siblings… fourteen or so “Okie-dokie”s later…]
When I close my eyes, I see her the way I remember… understated beauty, sometimes with the 90’s poodle-perm hairstyle, sometimes without, but always full of expression—even if more-than-occasionally that expression was the ‘mom glare’ … you all probably know the one…she’d most-likely be giving it to me right now for talking about her like this.
My Mom wasn’t much of a spotlight chaser, but it’s kind of hard to have a funeral without the day being centered around who she was, who she is, and who she has in some way helped shaped each of us to be. Sorry, Mom… but you’re the reason we’re all here, so…*shrug* like it or not, you’re getting some extra attention today. “Deal with it. Cope. Adjust.” (that’s something she’d always say to us… I promise I’m not being rude).
There is so much more to be said, but I don’t want to monopolize the podium. I know that Jenn has something prepared and hopefully we can convince Tris to come up here and share the one about Montgomery Moose…. Plus, I have a feeling that if you’re here—or watching from afar… you have at least a few fond memories of your own. I’d love to hear them.
But first, a quote from a book she would always read to me:
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living, my Mommy you’ll be.”
Love always,
“Pookie”
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.”
Dear Mom,
This is the hardest thing I've ever had to write... go figure, it's about you.
For once, I can't find the words.
P.S. -
On the way driving back to the house from the funeral home today to set up the photos (we made sure you'd have approved of most of them; some were just too funny not to include), we saw a van that said, "P & J" (whatever type of company it was)... I smiled. Patty Jane.
And then, the car in front of it had a license plate that said "BPOSITIVE"... your blood type.
You're even creative with your subtle encouragements.
I miss you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
I just saw that I have a 12-second voicemail from my Mom from August 22nd... the day Nate and I got engaged... and I haven't even listened to it yet. 😞
I don't know the protocol for things like this.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 