Its kind of funny. This spring, my facebook feed was obsessed with a giraffe named April who was about to give birth. I would see posts sharing the live feed of April pacing and sitting and pacing and sitting. Here lately, I feel like April . Something just doesn't feel right and I can't quite get settled. I also feel like everyone is watching and waiting. Watching and waiting for the big moment. To be honest, so am I. In my experience, this kind of wait always ends with a great explosion before picking up the pieces and moving on. I'm not sure that's the case this time. I think this wait is permanent.
I have a hard time admitting it. I’ve lost joy. I know life isn’t over and there are plenty of happy times ahead, but I truly can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard it hurt. Wait. Yes I can. It was Christmas 2016. It was one month after mom’s diagnosis. My nuclear family was gathered together for the first time in many years. We were dressed in Santa #teamred shirts and headed to my Aunt Lynda’s for Christmas dinner. We arrived and realized Mom and Dad were delayed. When they arrived, daddy had a very guilty look on his face. After much teasing and suggestions on why they were late, we learned the real story. Turns out they had spent the whole day wearing the wrong #teamred shirt. They were actually wearing each other’s shirt. Mom’s was a little too big and Dad’s was a little snug. What a perfect problem. So what does a married couple of 44 years do? Pull over on the side of the road and swap shirts!
I don’t know why but this story brought me so much joy. They were both so proud they’d swapped shirts in the front seat of their Cadillac. It was much fun and we had a great chuckle about it. I remember watching my dad laugh until he cried (dad's signature move), and thinking I was glad we could all still laugh after mom's diagnosis.
This picture was taken on the return flight from mom and dad's 40th anniversary trip to Punta Cana. Tate and Lily were continuing their flight from Atlanta and going to spend a few weeks with mom and dad in NY. I remember thinking as they walked away that I couldn't imagine missing something more than I did in that moment. I felt my heart was walking away from me, one step at a time.
I was wrong. I could miss something as much. And in this case, the missing is permanent.
I remember her 40th. I drove home to TN. We had an argument at the end of the weekend. It’s the last argument I remember between us. The only arguing we did over the past 20 years was about me taking care of myself. She would tell me I needed to eat better and get more rest. I would give anything to argue with her again.
Life moves on and so do people. The truth is I’ve had a hard enough time putting one foot in front of the other so I’m not quite sure how to actually move on. I woke up
Happy 64th Mama! You lived 15,895 beautiful days.
You are loved. You are missed. And I'm so glad you were born.
