One Year

One year.

How can time seem fast and slow at the same time?

We have been through our firsts of everything without mom: the first holiday season, the first birthday, the first Mother's Day. And now, the first anniversary of the day she left us. They say that it gets easier with time. If that's true, then why does it still hurt so much? Why have I spent the entire day (and the days building up to today) feeling so down and in tears?

I knew it would be hard. I tried to give myself a distraction. Several months ago, we planned a family vacation for the last two weeks of July. It seemed like a good idea at the time-to get away, having family fun so that our minds don't wander back to that dark time. It helped a little, but I'm really not sure if it was a good idea or not. It did help to keep my mind busy throughout the day, but I also felt a dark cloud lingering over me the whole time. Every morning I woke up remembering what we were doing on that day one year ago; it's impossible to forget. The memories of those last two weeks replay vividly in my mind, the good and the bad; memories of hospice stepping in, of the doctor delivering painful news, memories of taking her for rides around the block in the wheelchair when she could no longer walk, memories of her looking up at me and touching my face, memories of snuggling in bed beside her warm body as she slowly slipped away. I tried to push them out of my mind, but at the same time I want to remember, I want to hold on to those last moments that I had with my mom. I don't want to forget her. And so the memories creep in, haunting me, leaving a deep ache in my chest.

We returned from our vacation last night. We wanted to be home to visit her grave on this day. I wanted to plan something special, something meaningful, for the one year mark. But, I couldn't think of what to do and it was just too depressing to think about, if I'm being honest. It isn't exactly a celebration; this is the day she died. Yet, we couldn't let the day go by without acknowledging her. We ended up keeping it simple: a visit to her grave followed by dinner at my house with a small group of family.

We had a meal that reminded us of her. Mom's spaghetti dinner has always been a favorite, so I made her delicious spaghetti sauce. Some of my early readers may remember Mom's obsession (in earlier phases) with tortellini and mixed vegetables, so Dad brought that, although we didn't use quite as much garlic as she used to. Dad also brought the root beer and we drank with straws, just how she liked. She went through a phase of salad obsession, so Aunt Sharon brought some salad. Of course, the meal would not be complete without pb&j sandwiches, so my sister-in-law, Amber, brought those. For dessert, I whipped up a batch of Mom's chocolate chip cookies, taking me back to the good ol' days when I'd walk in the door after school and inhale the sweet scent of homemade cookies awaiting me for snack. It was sweet to share a meal together-a meal Mom would have been quite pleased with-as we remembered her. By this afternoon all I really wanted to do was cancel dinner and stay curled up in my bed by myself, but I'm glad that I didn't. It helps to be surrounded by family.

I made it through the day, and I even blogged about it. I think that's a victory. My head hurts from crying and I want to go to sleep now. Sorry to sound like a Negative Nelly, but that's just keeping it real. The pain doesn't go away, even with time. You just learn how to live with it, little by little. There are good days and bad days. Some days I feel strong, some days I feel weaker than ever. This is so much harder than I ever imagined.

Imagining Life

It's been a while since I've last written. Life is moving forward. The seasons are changing, the kids are growing. It's strange to be in a time and place where my mom does not exist. Sometimes I watch the news or hop onto social media and I think about how lucky she was to never have to see some of the ugliness and craziness going on in the world. If everything I've been taught is true, then she's in a glorious place where sorrow and ugly doesn't exist. Other times I am left feeling sorry that she never got to grow old; she never got to watch her grandkids grow, and see all that they are accomplishing. She missed out on the golden years with my dad. There's an emptiness in our lives without her.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if Mom were still here. Who would I be? What would I be doing? I sometimes find myself imagining what I'd be doing right now if Mom were still with us. I imagine the two of us making our shopping list for our upcoming RV trip to Lake Pleasant. I imagine sitting together in church, my youngest sitting on her lap while she looks at books with him and tries to keep him quiet and reverent. I imagine her marveling at Ryder's most recent tooth that he lost and remarking what a big boy he is becoming.

I imagine that I'd be saving a seat for her at the boy's talent show. I would look over at her and she would have that huge grin that she used to get when she was beaming with pride. She would be so proud of their courage for getting up on stage, and of Cody's amazing talent with his guitar.

I imagine her cheering above every other voice in the room, "that's my girl!" when Aubrey takes the stage to sing, just like she did when it was one of her daughter's on stage.

I imagine my kids having sleepovers at grandma's house while Jeff and I go out on a date night. She and dad would probably be spoiling them with trips to the movies or the fair, like they used to do B.D.

I imagine myself, picking up the phone to call her and vent to her about the teenage attitude I'm dealing with, or to ask for recipe tips or advice on any given topic.

If Mom were still here, I wonder how I would fill my days now that all the kids are in school. I imagine that I would be the mom that is at the school all the time, volunteering in the classroom, joining the PTA, running all the activities. Maybe I would put more time and effort in to my home sewing business. I wouldn't have so many distractions- a foundation to run, blogs to write, tears to wipe.

My course in life has certainly been changed by dementia and by the tragic loss of my mom. It has changed the person that I am. The ambitions and goals of my younger self are not the same as they are today and life can never be how it would have been if Mom were here. Now that she is gone, I can't go back to who I once was.

And yet, I'm not sure if I'd want to go back to that person. On one hand, I have much more sadness in my life now. The rose colored glasses have come off and I see things in a different light now; not just my own sorrows and struggles, but that of others as well. My heart hurts for what I've been through and it hurts for what I see others going through. There are some days where I feel completely unhinged and unstable and I struggle with the dark cloud of sadness that often hovers overhead. But, on the other hand, I've heard it said that you can't truly feel joy without having felt pain, and I feel like I appreciate the little things in life so much more.

Going through this has definitely made me a more empathetic person. I feel that I am better able to relate to others experiencing loss because I have felt what it's like to have my own heart ripped in two. I am more aware of other's needs and things I might be able to do to lighten their burden. B.D.(Before Dementia), I would have never imagined myself doing some of the things I've had to do; giving up my time to provide care for someone other than my kids, changing diapers, aiding and comforting someone in their last moments in life, preparing them with all the love and tenderness that one can muster for their final departure of this life. All of those things required sacrifice and they were not always easy or convenient, but I am better off for having learned those little lessons of love. Love means sacrifice and I'm not so sure I completely understood that B.D.

My relationships with family members and friends would not be the same either. My dad and I have always had a good relationship, but I feel as though we have grown a lot closer over the past several years. We have leaned on one another to get through this. We've had some deep and meaningful conversations and I have found myself turning to him for advice many times. My love and respect for him has only grown deeper by his example of unconditional love and care for my mom and for his entire family.

I have always considered myself to have had good relationships with my family, but when my mom got sick, there were a couple of aunts who became like second mothers to me. After my mom was diagnosed, one of my aunts (who lives long distance) started calling me every now and then, just to chit-chat. We'd never really had that kind of relationship before, but the more and more she called, the more I came to see that I had someone else there for me, ready to listen. Now, we talk on the phone at least a couple of times a week, if not more. She's become a mother figure to me and our relationship has become very special and dear to me. I have another aunt who I've grown closer with as well. She was the aunt I used to spend the night with growing up, so we've always been close. But since my mom has been sick, we make more of an effort to have regular family dinners and get together here and there "just because" or to celebrate birthdays. She and my uncle make an effort to be at the kid's concerts and events and I know that both of these aunts are always be there for me in a heartbeat when I need anything. In fact, they are the ones who I leaned on the most the week my mom died. I don't know that these relationships would be quite the same if dementia hadn't have crossed our path.

Because of dementia, I have had to learn patience and forgiveness, both for myself and with others (this is a never ending lesson!). I have learned to rely on and trust in other people. My mom was always my "go to" person, but by opening myself to talking and confiding with other people, my relationships with them have grown stronger and I have discovered a whole "community" of people that I feel a part of. So many people have shown love and support over the years; family and friends alike rallied together to help our family during years of hardship. I had friends who had never even met my mom B.D., but were still at her funeral and serving us through our darkest times. Their examples of friendship have truly inspired me and makes me want to be a better friend and person.

I hate that it took losing my mom to grow into the person I have become, yet there is also a sense of beauty in bettering one self in spite of trials. I can't really say if I am truly better or not, since I don't know the person I would be if this had never happened, but I'd like to think that there are ways that I've learned and grown through this. Lately I have been struggling with myself; feelings of sadness and inadequacy have been creeping in; feeling a bit lost and confused about which path to take in this stage of my earthly journey (another post for another day). Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and go back to a simpler time of life. But I am trying to focus on the beauty rather than the pain and trying to live a life that my mom would be proud of.

Quest For Joy

It's been a while since my last post. Partly because the holidays are always a really busy time, but also because the holidays were really hard this year. I didn't figure anyone wanted to read another depressing post about how much I was missing my mom. I actually sat down and tried to write a happier post, but I just wasn't feeling it.

Everyone said the first holidays without your loved one are rough. I guess I didn't anticipate it would be so hard because we had started losing my mom a long time ago. She hadn't known what Christmas was for a few years. Yet, it was different and it was painful not having her there with us physically. No gifts to put under the tree. No hugs to give. No pictures to take. All we could do was visit her grave; a piece of stone with her name and picture on it.

We did, as a family, go over and decorate her grave. I'd like to think she was looking in on us and saw the love we have for her. We visited our other loved ones who are buried at that same cemetery as well: my grandparents, great-grandparents and nephew.



I decided a while ago that I would continue with making English Toffee this Christmas, in honor of Mom. As you may remember, I have been making my mom's famous English Toffee for Christmas and Mother's Day for the past few years to raise money for my mom's caregiving fund. Obviously that need is gone, but I have some devoted customers who look forward to toffee season and I figured it would be a nice way to honor and remember her at the holidays. I decided to make a donation to The DEANA Foundation with the money raised this year. I didn't think it would be a difficult task; I've been doing this for years and have enjoyed doing it for my mom. The difference that I didn't anticipate was that I am no longer doing this for my mom, but rather in memory of. It hit me much harder than I expected. On day one of making toffee, I ended up crying on my kitchen floor, two separate times. I always thought it was over-dramatic in the movies when people would crunch up in a ball and cry; I've never been that kind of crier. I get it now. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself out of it and finish the job. It helped to have my aunt and sister-in-law come over a time or two to help me out so I wasn't alone with my thoughts. I got through toffee season and I made around 90 pounds of toffee!

On Christmas morning, I woke up with the flu. I didn't know it was the flu at first. It started with a slight cough that hurt my chest, and throughout the day I felt progressively worse. I started getting body aches, fever and chills and I just felt tired. It wasn't exactly how I wanted to spend my Christmas, but if I'm being completely honest it did distract me from missing my mom because all I could think about was getting through the day and going to bed at the end of it. Having family around also helped to make the day brighter.

I know my dad struggled a lot this season. I can only imagine what he's going through. I know how hard it has been for me and hard as that is, I have no doubt that it's ten times harder for him. But, we got through it and are looking forward to brighter days. Just after the new year, dad and I visited Mom's grave (as we do every Sunday) and we talked about the struggles of moving forward and feeling joy after losing her. My dad said something that really made me pause and think. To preface this, he remarked how he'd been watching "Castaway" a lot lately. At the end of the movie, Chuck talks about how he survived for four years, alone on that island. My dad quoted a part of the movie; here is the quote directly from Chuck's mouth:

"I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive. Somehow. I had to keep breathing. Even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again. So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing. And one day my logic was proven all wrong because the tide came in, and gave me a sail. And now, here I am. I'm back. In Memphis, talking to you. I have ice in my glass... And I've lost her all over again. I'm so sad that I don't have Kelly. But I'm so grateful that she was with me on that island. And I know what I have to do now. I gotta keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?"

My dad has lost my mom and some days it feels that all hope is lost with her. Yet, no matter what, the sun is going to continue to rise each day, whether we want it to or not. It is up to us to decide how we want each day to be. Some days will be easier than others, but who knows what tomorrow might bring? Even through the sorrow, we can find joy. It may only be a moment here and there, but hopefully the joy will soon outweigh the pain.

In thinking about this new year, I've thought a lot about how I can find my joy again. The ache in my heart for my mom will never go away, but I am trying my best to live each day focusing on the good things that I have in my life. Will I stop crying for her? No, I don't believe I ever will. But I am resolved to do my best to focus on the things that bring me joy.

Good-bye’s The Saddest Word

A couple of weeks ago, I loaded up my minivan with my 3 youngest kids, and our luggage, and braved a 5 hour drive without my husband to Arizona. I was a little nervous to make the drive alone, without the assistance of another adult. But I wanted to spend some time with my sister-in-law and the kids. They make their way to California often, but most weekends they are here are filled from sunup to sundown with family activities. We wanted a little time to relax, sew and craft….and just to hang out.

Thank goodness for modern technology (particularly the DVD player in my van). I couldn’t have asked for an easier ride. The kids were set up with their favorite movies and for nearly 5 hours I was alone with my thoughts. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had that much time to myself to think. With the kids contentedly watching movies, headphones on for sound, I had no demands for Disney soundtracks or The Chipmunks. I had no teenagers taking over the radio with their blaring music. For once, I was free to listen to what I wanted to and I suppose without so many distractions, my mind was free to think on some things that I had pushed to the back.

After going through a couple of different playlists of some favorite pop and rock hits, I was in the mood for something a little more calm and soothing. Celine Dion was the obvious choice; she has always been one of my favorites. Something about her music just speaks to my soul. I hadn’t listened to her in quite some time. As I began my Celine playlist, my mind turned back to my last trip to Arizona. Oh how life has changed in the last 6 months. At a time when I thought life was looking pretty sad, I was shown that things could, in fact, get worse.

It was a Wednesday evening in early February. My husband and I had been planning a trip to Arizona to visit my twin brother, and his family, for that President’s Weekend. Natalie (my sister-in-law) was pregnant with their baby boy, Wyatt, and was getting close to labor. Natalie and I have a very close relationship; she has become one of my very best friends. She wanted me to be in the delivery room with her and I was thrilled with the opportunity; I wasn't going to miss it! That first weekend in February, she had been having a lot of contractions and was beginning to dilate. By Tuesday evening, I was sure she wasn’t going to be able to hold out until I arrived on Friday. So, with the help of some friends to watch my kids, my dad and I left on Wednesday evening in hopes that we’d make it for the delivery (my husband would meet up with us on Friday with the kids).

The drive out there was very enjoyable. It was really nice to spend the 5 hour drive with my dad, just the two of us. We talked about a lot of different things. He told stories and memories of his childhood. We talked about life, we talked about mom. I look back on that drive with fondness.

Once in Arizona, Natalie’s contractions continued but were inconsistent. We spent the next few days hanging out, shopping, walking…we were anxious for baby Wyatt to make his appearance while we were there. My dad stayed through Saturday afternoon before he made his trek back home. My husband and kids arrived on Friday and we spent Saturday visiting a Ghost Town . While there, my daughter was hugging Aunt Natalie and giggling as Wyatt kicked her from inside. Later that evening, we relaxed with a movie on their living room couch. Natalie commented to me that she hadn’t felt Wyatt move in a while, which was unusual for her active baby. I told her drink some juice. Still no movement. She went as far as drinking soda and still wasn’t feeling any movement. After about 45 minutes, we decided to go in and get checked-just to be safe. Joe and Jeff stayed home with the kids while I went with her to Labor & Delivery.

I didn’t think too much of it. If anything, I was even a little bit excited because I figured he was just preparing for labor and that was why he wasn’t moving around so much. The odd part, however, was that her contractions had stopped. As we drove over, I reassured her that everything was probably fine, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry and get it all checked out.

Right away, as she checked in, they took her behind the counter to a small area that had a doppler device which was used to check baby’s heartbeat. It was a small space, so they told me I could have a seat in the waiting area. I sat in the chair across from a family who was overjoyed with excitement at the arrival of their own family baby that was being delivered that evening. I turned my ears toward the nurse and I heard her moving around the doppler on Natalie’s belly in search of Wyatt’s heartbeat.

My heart sank. I’ve been through 3 pregnancies and am well-versed on the sound of baby’s heartbeat. I was not hearing that sound. I glanced over to the counter, concern starting to overtake me. I saw the nurse stand up and walk out and soon after Natalie followed behind her, tears streaming down her face.

And then I knew.

“They can’t find his heartbeat,” Natalie said.

We followed the nurse to a bed, where they immediately did an ultrasound. The nurse looked concerned but didn’t say a lot. She met my eyes with sadness and confirmed what I already knew. She called the doctor to come down and I left the room to make the hardest phone call of my life. I had to call my brother.

The next 24 hours were the hardest of my life (I’m sure it was nothing compared to the pain Natalie and Joe felt). I won’t go into detail, as it was a very personal experience for all of us. But I stayed by Natalie’s side, along with my brother and her sister (who, thankfully, was already flying in that night in hopes to be there for the  anticipated delivery as well) and she prepared to deliver her baby boy, still. It was devastating and heartbreaking, to say the very least. There are no words to describe the emotions and pain we all went through during that time. At one point (before delivery), I had to leave the room. While outside the door, I fell down to my knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. It was hard to catch my breath and I felt like my heart was surely going to rip out of my chest from the utter pain and grief I felt. I didn’t know how I could possibly stay in there through the delivery. Horrible images flooded my mind. I remained laying on the floor, crying and trying hard to breathe as the nurses tried to give me comfort. Suddenly, I felt a hand rubbing my back. I heard a familiar voice ask me,

“Are you okay?”

I looked up and peered into my brother’s eyes. In that moment, I knew I needed to hold it together. For my brother, for my sister-in-law and for my family. I eventually calmed myself down and returned to the room. I was able to hold my sweet baby nephew in my arms; to look into his beautiful, perfect face. I kissed his head and cried about the cruelty of the situation.

In the week that followed, Joe and Natalie came out to California, where we arranged for Wyatt to be buried with our grandparents. With my dad and my dear Aunt Peggy by my side, I dressed Wyatt in preparation for his burial in the clothes that Natalie had selected.  

I thought losing my grandma was hard. And it was. I also helped to dress my grandma and do her make-up (per her request before she passed) for her burial. Up until this point, that was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I suppose that experience helped to give me the strength for what I needed to do for Wyatt (and Natalie & Joe). But one of the hardest parts of this whole experience was not having my mom by my side. In fact, it was hard for all of us. Mom has always been there to help us get through these difficult times in life. Even with grandma, though her dementia had already begun, mom was able to at least understand what was going on and she was by my side as we prepared grandma. This time, mom hardly understood what was going on. She wasn’t there to hold our hand or to hug us or give words of comfort. She wasn’t there to cry on or lean on. It was another painful reminder of another painful loss.

As these memories were playing through my mind on that drive, tears began rolling my cheeks. I dabbed at the tears with a napkin, trying to hold the flood back when Celine Dion’s “Good-bye’s The Saddest Word” came up on my playlist. That’s when I completely lost it. Thankfully I had oversized sunglasses covering half my face, so the cars passing by couldn’t see the dam that had broken loose on my face.

The song is about a mother who has shown love to her daughter, raising her from a baby into the woman she is today. It goes on to talk about how it will be the hardest thing in the world to have to someday say good-bye to her mother. It ends with a promise to her mother that she will be there for her, as that day grows close that her mother can no longer care for herself.

I thought about my mom. I reflected on the love and the comfort she has given me over the years. Sometimes I feel lost without it, though I am slowly learning how to get by. Listening to these words was another reminder to me that I need to be there for my mom. Sometimes I think she would never even know the difference; sometimes she even resents me for “being there”. But the mom I once knew would be grateful for us taking care of her.

“And when you need me
I'll be there for you always
I'll be there your whole life through
I'll be there this I promise you, Mamma"

Mamma, I'll be
I'll be your beacon through the darkest nights
I'll be the wings that guide your broken flight
I'll be your shelter through the raging storm
And I will love you 'till forever comes.”

I should’ve stopped listening to Celine after the Good-bye song. But what can I say, I’m a glutton. A few songs later, I had finally gotten myself composed and then this song came on. I was in tears all over again. I hadn’t heard it in years, but the words seemed so appropriate for what I was thinking and feeling. I dedicate this song to my beautiful angel, Wyatt.