The one year anniversary of mom's sudden death came and went last month. I was able to go and be with dad and siblings, Granny, lots of moms cousins and lots of my own cousins and aunts and uncles and dear, sweet friends. It was a good time of reflecting on this first year without mom. There were tears, of course. There have been a lot of those this year. But there was also laughter. Mom loved to laugh and the crowd that gathered to remember her and honor her would have especially brought out her loud, beautiful laugh many times over.
I've wanted to write about that weekend for a month now, but the right words just haven't been there. It seems too much to say and too complicated in my own heart and mind and, really, too tender to say out loud just yet. But as Thanksgiving presses down and the season of joyous holidays rolls in, I find myself more deeply thankful and more humbly grateful for the truth of Jesus and his birth and life and death than ever before. I'm not the same person that I was before mom died and it's a tricky thing to say but I wouldn't want to go back. Of course, I would do just about anything if it would grant me another day with her, but it would have to be a day of knowing. A day where we were both who we are now and could be with each other in light of our new reality and understanding. I can't even fathom all that she understands now and what it would be like to know her as she is. Thinking about experiencing relationships in their purest, most perfect form for all of eternity on the New Earth takes my breath away.
But I'm still here on this settle-for-less earth and there have been so many things throughout this year that I've wanted to tell her and share with her and laugh with her about. And there have been things that I've wanted to tell her because of how well-known and dearly loved she would feel to know them. Like how I had prayed that we would find her journal where she'd written some thoughts regarding her funeral many, many years ago while we were planning her actual one. I wanted to find it so that we could honor her wishes and I wished she were there so that I could tease her about how creepy it was that she'd written it all those years ago. But we didn't find it. We carefully thought through each detail as a family, always considering how we could use the time to really show who she was and how much we loved her for those things. And even though we're funeral planning rookies (thankfully), it was good. Really good. And so very her. I wanted her to see it all and know.
One month later, while back home for Thanksgiving, I found the journal. And I wept as I read what she had wanted because we had made those choices for her, to the tiniest detail, on our own. And I wanted her to know that too.
I wish I had joined Pinterest sooner than I did. A few weeks before she died I took the plunge and started pinning like a fool. Within minutes of my first pin I had a message from mom that said, "KK! You're on Pinterest! Cool!"At the time, I rolled my eyes at her cyber-stalking. But now? I wish I could tell her how much I love it and how quickly I'm approaching her Pinterest Queen status. And I wish I could tell her that I've used her boards to help choose gifts for my kids.
And then there was the time she sent a fashion email to all the girls (and probably Ron, too, because she always included him) telling us about her awesome find: Old Navy Rock Star jeans. She said they were amazing and that we had to get in there right away to get some for ourselves and that they had to be the black ones. I had recently had a baby and jeans shopping was at the very bottom of my list and Old Navy jeans and I have had a rocky past, so I congratulated her on her find and then moved on. A few months ago I was on my way to a work event with Jimmy and I was in a bit of a fashion crisis. I decided to make a quick stop at Old Navy to see if there was a cheap remedy and smiled when I saw the Rock Star jeans on sale. I grabbed a black pair to try on and, lo and behold, they really were actually amazing. I decided to press my luck and try on a cute blue pair, but of course, she was right, only the black ones were amazing. I wish I could tell her that I took her advice and that now these are my favorite jeans.
And coffee. I've given her a hard time about her coffee habit for years. More specifically, it's her French Vanilla Coffee Mate creamer that I tried to guilt her out of, but I judged her for her dependance upon the warm, cozy beverage that she needed every morning and every evening at 5:00. And here I am now, a coffee addict myself. It started last winter when I turned more and more often to the beverage that just felt comfortable and homey, and now I find myself thinking about when I'll get to have another cup. Often that thought hits me at around 5:00pm. I wish I could tell her that I understand why she loved it.
I wish I could tell her that the chicken soup she made for us and froze the last time she was here is still in my freezer. I surely don't want it to go to waste and maybe it's already been there for too long, but it just looks like Comfort and Care every time I see it in there.
I wish I could laugh with her at Eli's pure sweetness. He's just a delight and she would eat him up. He prays often and every time he reminds Jesus that Maw Maw is in heaven with him. He has to have his blankie that she made him for sleeping. He points her out in pictures and lists her among the people who love him when we go down the roll. He was the last baby that she really knew and her heart would burst to know that he remembers her still.
I wish I could laugh with her over Jack's antics and crazy thoughts. A few weeks ago he asked me when we would get to go "back" to heaven and see her again. Confused, I told him that while we haven't been to heaven yet, we will get to go one day and that she will be there. He insisted that we had been to heaven, that there were two of them, in fact, and that Maw Maw had been at both. Even more confused, I asked him to describe what The Heavens looked like and he proceeded to describe the funeral home chapel and the sanctuary where her funeral had been. All this time we've been saying that Maw Maw was in heaven and those were the last two places he saw her. I was glad to get to tell him that heaven will be way more awesome than either of those places. That would be one of those stories that made her laugh every time she thought of it.
I wish I could tell her of Ben's noble bravery and how he wanted to storm heaven and bring her back down to earth with us. With his swords, of course. And also how once he understood the permanence of death he accepted God's wisdom so easily and purely. I wish I could tell her how crafty Caroline is and how she talks about the things Maw Maw made for us and how she understands what treasures they are. How she cries sometimes with missing her. How she leaves me notes that tell me how I'm like her and that she knows I still miss her. And that she cried when Dad gave her mom's sewing machine. I wish I could tell her how hard it was for Sam as the one year anniversary of her death arrived. It hit him hard and neither of us knew to expect it. She would have been really humbled by the letter he wrote to her just to get his thoughts out of his head and onto paper. And I wish she could see how much Travis loves the typewriter that used to be her mom's. She loved his writing and she would love the idea of him working there. I love that he knows it's special.
I wish I could tell her that Dad actually researched gifts for the kids on the internet this year and then was so excited by what he chose for them he called me and spilled every detail. He kept saying, "But I'm not going to tell you about the next thing.... Ok, well, you're going to love it and the KIDS will really love it! It's a..." She would melt into a puddle.
I wish I could tell her that I miss her. But not for the things she bought or did for me so much as just for the presence that she was in our lives. And I wish I could tell her that the Lord has been so good and kind to me and he has changed me in so many good and right ways in this year after her death. I know she would say that for that reason alone it would be worth it.
I've wanted to write about that weekend for a month now, but the right words just haven't been there. It seems too much to say and too complicated in my own heart and mind and, really, too tender to say out loud just yet. But as Thanksgiving presses down and the season of joyous holidays rolls in, I find myself more deeply thankful and more humbly grateful for the truth of Jesus and his birth and life and death than ever before. I'm not the same person that I was before mom died and it's a tricky thing to say but I wouldn't want to go back. Of course, I would do just about anything if it would grant me another day with her, but it would have to be a day of knowing. A day where we were both who we are now and could be with each other in light of our new reality and understanding. I can't even fathom all that she understands now and what it would be like to know her as she is. Thinking about experiencing relationships in their purest, most perfect form for all of eternity on the New Earth takes my breath away.
But I'm still here on this settle-for-less earth and there have been so many things throughout this year that I've wanted to tell her and share with her and laugh with her about. And there have been things that I've wanted to tell her because of how well-known and dearly loved she would feel to know them. Like how I had prayed that we would find her journal where she'd written some thoughts regarding her funeral many, many years ago while we were planning her actual one. I wanted to find it so that we could honor her wishes and I wished she were there so that I could tease her about how creepy it was that she'd written it all those years ago. But we didn't find it. We carefully thought through each detail as a family, always considering how we could use the time to really show who she was and how much we loved her for those things. And even though we're funeral planning rookies (thankfully), it was good. Really good. And so very her. I wanted her to see it all and know.
One month later, while back home for Thanksgiving, I found the journal. And I wept as I read what she had wanted because we had made those choices for her, to the tiniest detail, on our own. And I wanted her to know that too.
I wish I had joined Pinterest sooner than I did. A few weeks before she died I took the plunge and started pinning like a fool. Within minutes of my first pin I had a message from mom that said, "KK! You're on Pinterest! Cool!"At the time, I rolled my eyes at her cyber-stalking. But now? I wish I could tell her how much I love it and how quickly I'm approaching her Pinterest Queen status. And I wish I could tell her that I've used her boards to help choose gifts for my kids.
And then there was the time she sent a fashion email to all the girls (and probably Ron, too, because she always included him) telling us about her awesome find: Old Navy Rock Star jeans. She said they were amazing and that we had to get in there right away to get some for ourselves and that they had to be the black ones. I had recently had a baby and jeans shopping was at the very bottom of my list and Old Navy jeans and I have had a rocky past, so I congratulated her on her find and then moved on. A few months ago I was on my way to a work event with Jimmy and I was in a bit of a fashion crisis. I decided to make a quick stop at Old Navy to see if there was a cheap remedy and smiled when I saw the Rock Star jeans on sale. I grabbed a black pair to try on and, lo and behold, they really were actually amazing. I decided to press my luck and try on a cute blue pair, but of course, she was right, only the black ones were amazing. I wish I could tell her that I took her advice and that now these are my favorite jeans.
And coffee. I've given her a hard time about her coffee habit for years. More specifically, it's her French Vanilla Coffee Mate creamer that I tried to guilt her out of, but I judged her for her dependance upon the warm, cozy beverage that she needed every morning and every evening at 5:00. And here I am now, a coffee addict myself. It started last winter when I turned more and more often to the beverage that just felt comfortable and homey, and now I find myself thinking about when I'll get to have another cup. Often that thought hits me at around 5:00pm. I wish I could tell her that I understand why she loved it.
I wish I could tell her that the chicken soup she made for us and froze the last time she was here is still in my freezer. I surely don't want it to go to waste and maybe it's already been there for too long, but it just looks like Comfort and Care every time I see it in there.
I wish I could laugh with her at Eli's pure sweetness. He's just a delight and she would eat him up. He prays often and every time he reminds Jesus that Maw Maw is in heaven with him. He has to have his blankie that she made him for sleeping. He points her out in pictures and lists her among the people who love him when we go down the roll. He was the last baby that she really knew and her heart would burst to know that he remembers her still.
I wish I could laugh with her over Jack's antics and crazy thoughts. A few weeks ago he asked me when we would get to go "back" to heaven and see her again. Confused, I told him that while we haven't been to heaven yet, we will get to go one day and that she will be there. He insisted that we had been to heaven, that there were two of them, in fact, and that Maw Maw had been at both. Even more confused, I asked him to describe what The Heavens looked like and he proceeded to describe the funeral home chapel and the sanctuary where her funeral had been. All this time we've been saying that Maw Maw was in heaven and those were the last two places he saw her. I was glad to get to tell him that heaven will be way more awesome than either of those places. That would be one of those stories that made her laugh every time she thought of it.
I wish I could tell her of Ben's noble bravery and how he wanted to storm heaven and bring her back down to earth with us. With his swords, of course. And also how once he understood the permanence of death he accepted God's wisdom so easily and purely. I wish I could tell her how crafty Caroline is and how she talks about the things Maw Maw made for us and how she understands what treasures they are. How she cries sometimes with missing her. How she leaves me notes that tell me how I'm like her and that she knows I still miss her. And that she cried when Dad gave her mom's sewing machine. I wish I could tell her how hard it was for Sam as the one year anniversary of her death arrived. It hit him hard and neither of us knew to expect it. She would have been really humbled by the letter he wrote to her just to get his thoughts out of his head and onto paper. And I wish she could see how much Travis loves the typewriter that used to be her mom's. She loved his writing and she would love the idea of him working there. I love that he knows it's special.
I wish I could tell her that Dad actually researched gifts for the kids on the internet this year and then was so excited by what he chose for them he called me and spilled every detail. He kept saying, "But I'm not going to tell you about the next thing.... Ok, well, you're going to love it and the KIDS will really love it! It's a..." She would melt into a puddle.
I wish I could tell her that I miss her. But not for the things she bought or did for me so much as just for the presence that she was in our lives. And I wish I could tell her that the Lord has been so good and kind to me and he has changed me in so many good and right ways in this year after her death. I know she would say that for that reason alone it would be worth it.