No Greeting Cards For This...A Gift For You This Mother's Day

I stood in the greeting card aisle this morning with all my fellow procrastinators, 

wondering if Hallmark writers had better words to say for my mother, for myself and 

the mom friends I know who are struggling on this celebratory day for mothers.

As I flipped through card after card of dripping sweet sentiments, 

I realized one thing about holidays and Hallmark?

They both really suck when you're struggling.

There is a mom's brunch today.

With some of my favorite moms in this life. 

But the thought of going is like a weight around my neck.

I'm afraid tears will come too easily and I won't be able to cover up my grief.

I'm worried my loss will overshadow the beauty of roses and tea and togetherness.

 Life and holidays and greeting cards continue even though you may be struggling to get out of bed.

Every one's version of grief and struggle and pain are different. 

And you will find no judgement on that here.

Maybe you lost someone this year like me and another holiday without them seems unbearable.

Perhaps your mom has been gone for years but the loss of not having her aches through your soul. 

And days like today that ache burns even harder so. 

Or you're a mom in your heart only who the dream of giggles and squishy toes is being attacked by infertility.

Or you're an adoptive mom who the weight of these new kids and issues are so much harder than you imagined, but you feel ungrateful if you confide the truth in anyone. 

Maybe this day in May is impossible to fully enjoy, as you are filling the role of both parents because the other one is absent. 

Maybe you're a widow a facing your first year or you fiftieth year without your love.

Or you're a mom somewhere on this globe that is missing your daughter, because 

she's been taken from you. 

Maybe you've lost your job, are going through a painful divorce or are estranged from your

 family because of years of abuse. 

Or perhaps you are like every other mom in this tiny globe and you are exhausted, overworked and wondering at the end of each day:

"Did I do it right today?"

Sister, 

Here are my flowers for you today. 

Because you ARE doing it right today. 

Doing this motherhood gig at all is doing it right.

And YES, I do count you as a mother if you are battling infertility or completing an adoption.

Doing life messy and with ragged, exhausted breaths is doing it great.

If I could give each of you something for mother's day it would be a card that says only three words.

It would be in your favorite color and made out of crayons, because that's all we mothers can seem to find to write with when the necessary time comes.

I'd pour glue over the letters  and cover it with glitter so that it would be so shiny you can see it hanging on your fridge, visible across your laundry filled, back pack laden, toy museum of a living room. 

Or hanging over the crib of the baby your heart aches for; or over the place where you grieve; whether it be a closet or a couch.

And on days when you are struggling to exhale without someone screaming your name or your house is so silent you feel mad from the lack of noise, you can look up and be reminded that this day, 

"YOU'RE DOING GREAT!"

There is no handbook for grief. 

They make no cards for loss or pain or for the struggle of a single parent's schedule. 

 I've looked.

Just know that I understand today can be a hard day. 

Because today is another day in life and some of us just want the world to stop for a moment.

Whether it is for a period of years to let us grieve, or even for just a few more hours of precious sleep.

No matter what the world knows of your life from the outside. 

No body has lived it from the inside like you. 

But from one worn out battle wounded woman to you, this is encouragement to keep going.

Even if "going" looks like a snail's pace crawl. 

I'm cheering you on today. 

Happy Mother's Day all. 

Musical Monday: If Heaven Weren't So Far Away

My little brother loved country music. The station in his truck is still set to his favorite country station.

I don't have the heart to change it. 

I may never. 

This song came on the radio today and I just lost it. 

If only heaven weren't so far away.

I would take a day trip all by myself. 

I'd want him to introduce me to Jesus personally.

And we'd spend the entire day with my baby bro telling me exactly how to live the rest 

of my life on earth with out him. 

I'd let Nannie lecture me one more time on how to be a good person. 

And to always remember to trust my gut instinct about all else.

Papa would hug me and say he'd leave a pot of coffee on for me. 

And I would cry all the way home.

At least it would be seeing them all in person.

And not only in my dreams. 

Being Drug Into Spring

It appears that Oklahoma has officially entered into spring.

Everything is changing colors.

The weatherman reports warmer temperatures are here to stay.

People are out walking their dogs, playing in the parks and buzzing with the hype of impending summer.

We are spending more time outside with soccer and gardening.

The thrill of watching things change and become green is still thrilling to the kids.

Promises of berries and jam, swimming and fun are all they talk about these days.

They have even braved getting in the swimming pool a couple of times already.

I want so badly to replicate their excitement. 

To get lost in the anticipation that comes with changing seasons.

I make myself spend time in the garden every day.

Some days, I just meander through, watering plants and pulling weeds.

Other days, I spend hours planting, pruning, working to utter exhaustion. 

Just so that I can be able to sleep.

But as much as I try, I just cannot bring myself to fully embrace the season change.

The last season you saw was the bitter cold of winter. 

And there is so much of my heart that is frozen from the ache of missing you.

I suppose that I deep down fear that welcoming spring, will mean I forget all about the last winter you lived. 

Big 6!

Often, when we are so wrapped up in grief, things slip past us. The concept of time can slap us right in the face and we are scrambling to put things together for an event or holiday. 

Worse, at times, we just wish the event/holiday/social gathering/appearance

would altogether disappear.

While I adore my baby boy so very much, I would be lying if I told you I had been looking forward to preparing for his sixth birthday party. 

Truth: I was full on dreading it. 

And with so many other things falling apart, the day crept up on me faster than I wanted to admit. 

The planning was drowning to me:

Balloons.

Invitations.

Decorating.

Trying to laugh.

Cleaning up.

Deciding where to have it.

Having to pick an outfit for myself that wasn't sweats and my brother's brown hoodie.

Yup.

For someone who is still grieving a party with screaming toddlers, balloons and party favors 

was my personal version of hell.

Little Man wasn't the most help either. 

On days I felt like I was in a frame of mind to plan, I would ask him what he wanted to do for his birthday.

His answers would range from taking his entire kindergarten class on a play date (Uh, NO!!!!),

to The Hero and I buying him a b.b. gun (UH, DOUBLE NO)

to all of us going to Disney World (Not in the budget).

He also refused to settle on a theme.

He would tell me "Mom, you know I like it all."

"Avengers." 

"Spiderman."

"And minions."

"Lots of minions."

With not much else to go off of and no real energy to peruse Pinterest looking for ways to entertain six year olds, I buckled under the pressure.

The invitations were by Facebook invite only.

Family and a few of our dearest friends whose children I knew I could socially tolerate.

Decorations were a hodge podge of all of his favorites.

Cupcakes were of the store-bought variety.

We topped off the whole cupcake/punch affair with a candy-crammed pinata, sang Happy Birthday and celebrated our newly turned six year old. 

We even made it, just the four of us out for dinner to the Ethiopian restaurant in our area for an extra dosing of celebrating. 

All of it was beautiful and special and he felt on top of the world. 

And for one small glimmer of an afternoon, life felt....well, I would like to say normal, but I hate that word.

Exhaleable.

I know that's not a real word. 

I made it up. 

But grieving through my brother's death has left most of my breaths like they are unable

 to be let loosed from my chest. 

And for one small, Sunday afternoon surrounded by our family and friends, I felt

covered in enough love to let out a breath and not immediately feel the need to fall apart. 

Which allowed me to embrace and enjoy this smile:

Happy Super Six to my favorite Dinosaur! And to all of those we know and love us who made the day extra special and who didn't even notice that the party was not Pinterest worthy, but was worthy for nothing more than the company. 

Purple Tulips

I live less than a half of a mile from my office. For the last two weeks, I've gotten out of bed, showered, put makeup on my face and brushed my teeth and combed my hair. If you would have seen me function the last two weeks, an improvement would definitely have been noticed. The Hero is thrilled that I have returned from the land of sweatshirts and yoga pants and on most days the mental relief has been great.


Today was different. I followed our daily routine of teeth brushing, packing lunches, kissing the kids and sending everyone out the door. The cold air has seemed to have left Oklahoma for the season and at almost 9:00a.m., it was already 55 degrees. As I past by the tulips I planted last fall, two purple blooms had begun to make their arrival to our flowerbed. I smiled at the memory of the kids and I digging in the dirt and explaining how God brings something that looks dead in the ground, back to life under the right circumstances; a perfect mix of water and light.


The Hero let me drive his Jeep and I had the windows down, enjoying the drive alone.  I made it a block from the house when the tears came. I sat at the stoplight past it turning green and just wept. I wish my brother would have seen this spring day. He died on one of the coldest days of winter; biting winds and cold and snow. When I got to the office, I sat in the parking lot, just crying and praying.


Peace filled my heart and I was reminded that God brings something that looks dead back to life under the right circumstances. I will see my brother again. And not just in my dreams; which have been so amazing to experience lately. But one day when the sky rolls back, the Bible says that "the dead in Christ will rise" and if I'm still living, I will meet him in the air. And if I go before that day, he'll be right there, leading me to Jesus. Of these things I am sure. And so while his loss is real and will be with me the rest of my days, it is only a temporary condition; and for that I rejoice.

^13-14 And regarding the question, friends, that has come up about what happens to those already dead and buried, we don’t want you in the dark any longer. First off, you must not carry on over them like people who have nothing to look forward to, as if the grave were the last word. Since Jesus died and broke loose from the grave, God will most certainly bring back to life those who died in Jesus.

^15-18 And then this: We can tell you with complete confidence—we have the Master’s word on it—that when the Master comes again to get us, those of us who are still alive will not get a jump on the dead and leave them behind. In actual fact, they’ll be ahead of us. The Master himself will give the command. Archangel thunder! God’s trumpet blast! He’ll come down from heaven and the dead in Christ will rise—they’ll go first. Then the rest of us who are still alive at the time will be caught up with them into the clouds to meet the Master. Oh, we’ll be walking on air! And then there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words. 1 Thessalonians 4:14-18

After I wrote this post, I went online and researched the meaning of purple tulips. While purple is often used to signify royalty, "purple also symbolizes rebirth, therefore being the perfect color for spring."

Insert more tears.

 

Preciously Beautiful

After my brother's near fatal car accident in 2002, he was diagnosed with a severe brain injury. I think my family was medically advised about his condition and the limitations that would forever be placed on his life, but I don't think one person ever fully prepared us for the side effects of his medication. Since the accident he was evaluated and re-evaluated only to leave yet another doctor's office with a new prescription for his depression. Nothing worked. The side effects were weight gain and sleeplessness, which only reduced his self-esteem. And those are only the side effects I know he struggled with because they were the only ones he told me about.

He became more and more alone. As we searched through family photos of the last several years, he was always in the background, never at the forefront of the family merriment. In the few pictures we have, he was always forced to partake and I think he forced his smiles too. I don't think anyone truly knew how much he had been struggling. I think that was the point, he never wanted us to know.

I hash tagged a picture of him a few nights ago to my Instagram account with #depression. The people who responded to that picture ranged from friends to people who are searching under that hash tag quite often, to people who have named entire social media accounts to depression. It got me to searching even further and I searched Pinterest for #depression posts. I thought for sure that since we have grown into such a visual society that there would only be pleasing posts and pictures of triumph and celebration over such an ailment.

What I really saw broke my heart.

The harshness and rawness of what people are willing to display to people they know and those they have never met only reaffirmed that my precious baby brother struggled fiercely and his struggle was not unlike a lot of other peoples and I am broken all over again that I never saw it.  He could not see how preciously beautiful he was to those who loved him.

And he remains preciously beautiful.