Be Really Real (no juice here!)

I am finding it difficult to write. I deeply desire to be positive, uplifting, encouraging, but I feel none of these things.

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(Me and my journal!)
I really want to string some pretty words together but my heart is swearing! My mind is screaming. My body is weary with grief.

I feel hurt.

I feel despair.

I feel anger.

I feel frustration.

I have become aware that my words on this blog evoke emotions. My photos, especially the one of my lying on my laundry room floor in January, are difficult for some readers.

I have to admit that this blogging thing started off anonymously with twenty people I didn’t know reading my blog daily. One year after starting and during the height of my mom’s cancer journey, there were over eight hundred people checking my blog daily!. This is a strange sensation knowing that the audience I now have before me knows me and uses this blog to ‘see how I am doing’!

Now the second thing I will admit as I sit in my red chair, the rain pounding down, as I reflect on this blogging journey is that I have been serving you juice.

Good old apple juice.

Showing you a side of me that I think you want and need to see.

Keeping the information rated G for the general audience.

Tonight, I am giving you a good old gulp of red wine on the eve of the remembrance of Jesus’ crucifixion.

The night before Jesus died he washed his disciples feet, served them bread and wine, symbolizing his body and blood.

On this night I feel like I want to die. I am listening to the rain pound down hoping it will clean me up. I want to curl up. I don’t eat nor drink. I burst into tears during a children’s storybook, at the lack of communication, through this pouring rain. I HATE RAIN!

I cry out about the missed moments. Why didn’t I stand closer and notice how mom made her jam, lasagna, apple pie crust…

I am overwhelmed by the differences between men and women as I sit surrounded by males including Sexy Neck, my boys and my father. Oh mama, where are you?

I have so many questions rattling around in my head that I want to ask my mom. I can’t breathe as tears streak my face.

My mom, my first teacher and the teacher I modelled my love of my students after. The women who showed me how to spend weekends preparing for the week, lunch hours to meet the needs of the students less socially inclined and going above and beyond in many ways. To be watching my son’s teacher with her systems, testing and explanations that end in ‘I could show you the research!’ ,my legs want to run straight to my mom for a chat in her garden. My mom had such insight about schooling. But I am alone to figure this one out. Utterly alone.

I feel sick to my stomach when I see the sad faces of my friends when I talk about my mom. I see what an impact her life and death had on them I want to talk about her but their faces make me stop.

I have never felt so lonely in my life.

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Deeply missing the times I took for granted.

Tearfully desiring all the times my mom was so beautifully present, unassuming, supportive and there.

Mom cannot be replaced. Absolutely nothing in the world can fill this gaping hole. I will continue to sit in my grief as this is my season. There is nothing another human being can do to erase my pain. Don’t feel sad for me. I am not drinking my feelings away nor shopping or eating them away.

I am sitting.

I am noticing.

I am hoping.

I am waiting.

For the rain to go away.

For a glimmer of sun.

To create a new way.

A new life.

Without my mom.

Damn this hurt.

So, if you don’t hear from me for awhile it has nothing to do with you. If I don’t know the answers nor want to organize things remember I am building new neuron brain pathways. Many of my pathways led to my mom!

I am exhausted.

Overwhelmed by waves.

I am doing my work.

Rowing my boat.

Staying afloat.

On the ocean of grief.

Waiting for Jesus to walk on water.

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