Yet in the last months, I have found myself unable to get rid of a few things. An old, almost empty bottle of hairspray. A container of chia seeds, stuffed into the back of the fridge. A webpage of bible verses that remains open on my cell phone everytime I click into the internet. The last jumbled text my Dad sent, that doesn't make much sense, but I can't bring myself to erase.
I remember doing the same thing with the last text I sent to my mom, a picture of Koralyn in a pink Zebra striped bow my mom had sent her among the thousands of bows she had sent to her first granddaughter, in all the excitement of finally getting one after four grandsons. It was a cute picture because the bow was so oversized and gaudy on that tiny baby girl.I don't think my mom ever recieved that text. I sadly had erased all her texts the night before she died, making space on my phone. Not knowing I would never receive another text from her. I can't remember any of those texts now.
(not the picture from my text)
I remember the night I realized her last voicemail she had left me had been erased from my phone. Walking back to the Ronald Mcdonald House late and in the dark. Dialing to listen to her voice and it being gone. The sheer desperation and panic I felt. The need to somehow get it back. The low that hit after calling the cell company only to be told it was gone forever due to some stupid rule about limits and time. I cried and told them in my best panicked voice that my mom was dead and that was the last message she ever left and wasn't there anyway to get it back. PLEASE. PLEASE there has to be a way I know it. That poor unsuspecting girl that took my call that late night. How heavy my burden felt to her in that moment. She tried, but to no avail. I remember the cold hard cement as I sat down in utter failure and wrenching tears after hanging up. Sitting there on the curb in between RMH and Cook Children's not too far from the spot where I learned I would never again hear mom's sweet voice alive this side of heaven. I sat there for some time, not wanting to mmake the walk up the stairs to my empty room.
Growing up I always heard people tell her she had such a cute Minnie Mouse voice. I used to hate it when people told me the same as a teenager and young adult. Now of course I love to hear that, sometimes when I speak my voice sounds like my mom's and it is comforting, like a little piece of her is still here.
Then last month, 2 years and a few months after we buried my mom, and then my daughter, my dad died. August 2, around 1:30 in the afternoon. I wasn't there when his heart stopped beating. I had made the ten hour drive back to Midlothian just the day before. I had such a hard time making the decision to leave, gut wrenching really. I so wanted to be there to usher him home, I had been pleading with both him and God to let it happen before I had to leave. As I drove away that morning, I felt a peace wash over me as I drove up into the pass and out of my hometown. A peace very similar to the one I felt the night before our Koralyn went home. Until I got in that rented van and drove away, I wasn't sure what the right decision was. I felt driving up into the Sandia Mountains and past Tramway that God and my dad were telling me I made the right choice. Clarity comes when you need it most.
So now here we are again. Some days it seems unreal that I am 32 and an orphan, in the sense that I have no living parents on this earth. I know things could always be worse and I know there are children out there who have lost both parents in their developing yearsx when a child needs her mom and dad the most. I am so thankful that I had a chance to grow up before my parents were called home. I am thankful my mama got to be at the birth of 3 of my kids and my dad got to hold a newborn Abram and watch the first 8 months of his life.
Funny how the last 8 months From December to July were the beginning for my Abram, while they were the ending for my dad. If you would have asked me at age 20 if I thought 58 was old I would have said yes. Ask me now that I have had to say goodbye to both my parents in their 50's and I say no of course not! 55 and 58 are still so young. You still have so much potential, so much left you can do at that age. Not to mention the very important job of loving the littles you have been given. Those that call you Grandma and Grandpa. My dad and I didn't have a perfect relationship by any standard, there were hard issues in both my relationship with my mom and dad, but I loved them so, and I know they loved me. To know your parents love you in spite of your imperfection as well as theirs is a job well done in my book. Some cannot say as much about their mom and dad.
My heart breaks for Asa and Asher, who have all but forgotten my mom, there beloved Grandma Kay. In the past 8 months they were around my dad more then they ever have been in their short lives. As he lived between our house and my Aunt and Uncle's, he was built up in their little eyes as an old hero, a mans man, a stinky, funny old cowboy who loved them and laughed with them.
I pray that picture remains for them, one of sitting with him on the back porch as he read about the Sword In The Stone. Sitting at the dinner table with him eating pizza or pancakes. Christmas morning handing him his presents. The fact that every time he came in from being away for a few days, he had a handful of quarters for each boy. Practically a million dollars in the hands of a 7 and 4 year old. I am glad they got the gift of building these happy memories with him. I am also heartbroken it took him dying to get it done, and heartbroken in the fact that now the boys are yet again filled with sorrow, confusion, and questions. They have learned at such a young age that death is indeed a part of life, and that things can change so quickly for anyone. I pray that turns into purpose for them and not fear.
As I sit back and reflect on the past months, I think about my heart and my intentions when my dad was here in our home. When you are 31, with a newborn and two small boys, having your dad come stay can some days feel like a heavy burden. It feels unnatural to be caring for your baby and your sick dad at the same time. Worrying about well checks for your kids, and brain scans for your dad. I told Amos several times this feels like it came about 20 years too soon.
My heart aches to remember the early mornings and frustrations I felt with my dad when he would drink all my coffee before I got a cup, or be up in the early hours and bang around the kitchen waking my very light sleeping boys. The times I grumbled when he said, Good Morning Baby! The days I felt so inconvenienced when I made the 45 minute drive up to Baylor for his appointments. I sit and think now that all of that hard, was a gift. Also a glaring mirror into the heart of the matter, my heart. I think I understand now more then ever, that something not done in love is a waste. I can do great and wonderful things but if I don't do them out of love what have I accomplished? I count it a privilege that I got to do these hard things with my dad. That now looking back I can think about the good and bad days, my selfish and selfless moments. I can not change things, I cannot be perfect. I can forgive myself for my ugly days and forgive my dad for his shortcomings (God knows we all have them). It is funny how cancer and death can erase things, good and bad. I would like to think my dad knows now, he knows of my heart and my intentions. He knows I am broken and imperfect trying to love the best I can. He was too. Aren't we all?
My mom too. It is true what is said, you will regret things after someone dies. You will miss them when they are gone. I don't think this happens so we will remain stuck in our regret. I think we are given these pictures of ourselves and our failings so that we can learn and grow, move forward and love deeper and stronger with the ones that remain.
Oh how I wish I could go back to certain days and times and do things different. All those evenings standing in my kitchen when the phone rang and it was my mom and I didn't answer because of my busyness. The times of friction and strife as a teenage girl when I was so rude and disrespectful to my mama. I know now as a mom, that I must have broken her heart into a million shattered pieces many times over. What I would give to go back and do those days over. Of course I can say the same thing for the good days, the smiles, and the warmth. The times we confided in one another and laughed and laughed. The times I made her proud and she let me know it. What I wouldn't give to do those days again as well.
I think that is the beauty of it, this life I mean. It is so bittersweet and you miss every season after it passes. I think God made it that way for a reason. To stretch and grow our hearts. To open our eyes to the hurt and the healing that is constantly taking place around and in us. Our need to have a foundation to stand on when we have lost ourselves and failed others. I can now rest in the fact that my mom, and dad, and even my sweet Koralyn, know the rest of the story. They can see me in all my imperfection down here and love me because they can see clearly now when my view is still foggy. All these lessons have indeeed helped me to live more in each day. Helped me to step back some and see the gifts even in the pain. Not always, (because I am human) but more then ever before.
So why can't I let go of these silly little trinkets that may look like trash or clutter to others, when I am usually so good at purging and being organized? Not usually attaching emotion to objects with no life? Maybe because I can look at the almost empty can of hairspray and think about how my mom used it the week she was out here when our Koralyn was born. I can hold it in my hands and think about how her hands held it as well, in these very walls of my home. I think about what she was thinking when she sprayed it on her hair the day her Grandaughter was born with half a heart. I look at the Bible page on my cell phone and think about how I read these verses to my dad as he lay in my sister's house dying. How I struggled and prayed for him to be taken out of the misery that is dying a slow death to cancer. I can look at his last text to me and think about how he was so broken at that point and yet still trying to be strong. All these things are the connections I have left. Very bittersweet memories that help me to remember the fragile state of life and the importance of every single day.
I know logically that these items connect me no more then my memories alone, and yet I can't let go just yet. I want to hold onto these things and take them in when I need to. I hold a precious tiny pink outfit my daughter wore and it makes her come alive to me again. I can recall the weight of her in my arms, being so careful not to mess up her many cords and wires. I can remember my mom and her always perfect hair that was curled just so. And my dad and the way he always smelled like musty old cigarattes and how the boys got a kick out of telling him so. These memories are not a burden, but a gift. Some days they do indeed feel heavy with the ache in knowing I will never physically be with them again this side of heaven. Most days they help me remember the good, accept or at least work through the bad, and want to strive to make my living I have left the most meaningful it can be. I want to be kinder, more gentle and patient. I want to remember each day could be my last, to live in the moment without fear, but also plan for the future both here on earth and in my eternal home. Life is such a balance, one I don't think will ever actually be found here on earth.
All this hard is a gift, a gift that helps me savor the not so hard, the good, and easy. A gift that hopefully opens my eyes and hearts to others who suffer with grief. I can say now, even in the midst of great loss and pain, I believe more then ever, it is ALL a gift. It ALL has purpose and meaning. God didn't give me these trials to destroy me, but to grow me and make me more mindful that this short gasp of a life is not all there is to our stories. Its only the beginning. Some may say thats foolish to believe I say that is HOPE, and we can't survive without hope now can we?
"Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope." 1 Thessalonians 4:13
"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. 3 Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; 4 perseverance, character; and character, hope. 5 And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:1-5
