Doing it all again

I’m not really sure what’s lurking. Only that I’m perpetually tired….like really tired. Like ready for bed by 8 tired.  Last night it was ready to sleep at 6 tired, but I have kids, so that didn’t really work out.  And it may just be that I’m tired. But since my mom died, I’ve learned that crazy tired is actually a sign of unacknowledged grief. So, my guess is that somewhere there’s a pocket of emotion that’s built up and keeps sapping my energy. And the best way I've found to find it is to write....

I’m not really sure what it might be exactly, only that I miss my mom.  I wish I could do Christmas with her again.  Last year was hard, but it didn’t feel hard, I guess because I was expecting it to be hard.  But this year, the grief feels worse.  I remember a woman from my second church whose husband had died.  She said, “The first year of grief sucks, but the second year is so much worse because you have to do it all over again.  I mean, you get through the first Christmas, birthday, anniversary, etc without them, and then you have to do it all again.”

It seems insanely obvious that after someone dies you would have to do all the things without them from that day on, year after year, and that’s true.  But it’s hard to do the work of grief, the expressions and the deep deep feeling, only to realize despite your best efforts, there’s more deep stuff and sadness there.  

So there’s both a deep longing—one where I wish she were here, where the decorations are mostly all a reminder of her…the table cloth she bought me, the napkins, the Christmas dishes, the “our first home” ornament, the clothes, the symbols…so much of it beckoning forth her memory and she’s not here to enjoy it or share it.  And there’s a deep sadness, an emptiness because of her absence.  And frankly, it’s exhausting.  

Yesterday we received a package that included See’s candy. That’s a special treat up here since there aren’t See’s stores nearby.  And See’s was always a favorite of my grandma and my mom.  So when I open the box to enjoy some candy, I’m inclined to offer some to my mom, or save some for when she gets here.  Only she’s not here and she won’t be coming…not again, not ever.  

And there’s the grief.  Hard and fast and strong and deep.  I miss her.  I wish I could talk to her. Appreciate her more.  Ask more questions. Learn more things.  But I can only pull from my memories, and those of others who know and love and remember her. And, for today, that’s the best I can do.  

Give of Yourself

Mom was always thinking of others. Always.  I don’t know that she knew another way of operating.  (One ironic and poignant example was when she was needing to be up and walking and exercising in order to gain back strength.  Yet, we could barely find a single way to motivate her.  At the same time my husband was needing to push himself to do more exercise.  In true Sue fashion, she volunteered to do a measure of walking for every measure of walking Rick did.  They weren’t equal, but in an attempt to encourage and motivate him, she offered to be an exercise buddy of sorts.  She wasn’t ready to do it for herself. But she was ready to do it for him.).  She always was thinking about how to do what would be good for another.  

One particular blessing she gave me was when I was a new mom with Ruth home from the hospital.  Each night I would nurse her and then my mom would take her and rock her for a few hours until she was ready to nurse again. Then she would bring Ruth into my room so I could nurse and put her down.  You could argue it was selfish (or at least not totally self-less) since she got to hold her granddaughter.  But her true motivation was to help me and let me get some good sleep.  Sure, she enjoyed it, but she was thinking of me.  

I am grateful for that gift and the memory of her holding Ruth and rocking her to sleep.   

Parenting advice

Parenting is hard work. If you’re a parent, you know that.  If you’re not, you should know why the parents around you are exhausted and sometimes at their wits-end!  There is love, snuggles, cuteness, and laughter—all of which are awesome.  And there are tantrums, power struggles, food battles, and learning wars that are not so awesome.  

I have to say my parents (yes, both of them) are amazing, stellar, cream of the crop parents.  They are amazing people too. But as parents, they rocked it.  They were consistent, even keel, affirming, loving, kind, and a wonderful example.  I cannot remember one instance where either of them yelled. Not once.  As a parent myself, that’s pretty miraculous.  I wish I could say the same about myself as a parent.  Instead I’ll just say I’m a work in progress.  

Before I was a parent, I was a youth leader, youth counselor and youth pastor. I worked with teens at summer camp and in the church for years. And from time to time I would need advice about how to work with one.  Regularly, I’d call my parents to ask for their input.  Almost without fail, if I asked my dad, he’d say something like, “You should ask your mother; I learned everything I know from her.” And he’d pass the phone to my mom.  

Always, she’d have an answer. She was an educator who had both her masters and extensive continuing education training.  She and my dad took ELEVEN parenting classes before my brother was born.  (He was the firstborn).  ELEVEN classes.  That’s a lot.  I mean, parenting is hard, I get that, I’m grateful I’ve had 3 classes.  I could benefit from 11, maybe it’d help the yelling thing…anyway.  She knew a lot. She understood behavior from a developmental perspective, as well as a social one, and even an intelligence level one.  She could identify the underlying issues and offer a dozen options for how to handle it and work with the student.  

And then once I had Ruth, she continued to offer good wisdom.  It’s a bit different as a grandparent because you don’t want to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong (or isn’t solicited) and as a parent you don’t want to be seen as a failure (or at least that’s my issue) and so you (I) don’t always ask for advice when you should.  

In January we started a new stage, it’s super *fun*.  I don’t know which stage it is exactly…my mom would have been the one to tell me that.  But it’s where my kid asserts her independence by ignoring, arguing, or defying most every bit of instruction I give.  I wish I understood it so I had more patience for it.  And, I wish I had my mom’s dozen options for how to curb it before it drives me insane.  

I miss her. I wish I could call.  It makes me sad she’s not on the other end of a phone ready to answer.  But it also makes me grateful that I was raised by someone so amazing.  

Missing My Mom

My grief has been hitting particularly hard.  The day my mom passed, I sobbed. Hard. For a long time.  While her death wasn’t unexpected, it was unreal that she was actually gone.  And then I quickly fell into the doing…thinking about her service, writing liturgy, helping sort at the house.  The busy work of grief.  And I didn’t feel it much.  I missed her, but it didn’t sting like grief often does.  And then January came and my grief hit like a ton of bricks.  Grief is funny that way. It comes in all kinds of shapes and sizes, often unpredictably for things we’d never imagine.  

I’ve been remembering a lot and savoring various memories.  And still the sadness lingers.  And that’s ok. I’d certainly tell someone I counsel at the church that it’s ok to be sad.  At the same time, I hope for something beyond the sadness.  So, I thought I’d start writing and sharing memories, hoping that something more fruitful might happen, or at least that it would provoke the tears to do the healing work. 

It will likely be a series of posts, memories and lessons from my mom.  I like assonance as a communication tool, so I’ll stick with “Momma Mondays” and share my stories of her.