Life moves....

I joined a Motherless daughters group on facebook. (Laughs out Loud) But really it has been helpful, to have others who really understand what it feels like to lose their mom and to be able to say the things on there that I cant say in "real life" because people will most likely think I'm insane. HA! The one thing that bothers me though are the ones that write these beautiful blogs, I mean these really meaningful blogs about the days after losing their moms and how so many people rallied around them, and they were brought casseroles, and people helped to plan the funeral, pick out the casket, flowers etc etc. On March 17, 2017 my mother died. I did all of the paperwork, I wrote her obituary-that never made it into the paper, I made loose plans of a service that never happened and no one seemed to say anything. Life moved on. It makes my life easier, no service to plan, no more bills to pay with no life insurance to help pay for it but it makes me sad. Because she was a person who I love with the very core of my existence and she deserved a farewell full of butterflies, and flowers and balloons and the people who loved her saying wonderful things about the wonderful person that she was. I find it odd that this all happened without anyone trying to make it happen and during a time when I literally couldn't muster up enough energy to get out of bed some days let alone plan a funeral across the country. So I will continue to take her ashes with me on my travels and I will have her with me next to my bed and I will tell my kids stories about her while I wash there hair and scrub the mud off of their faces and add dragonflies to every inch of my garden and I will remember her.

Remembering my mom one year ago...on this day....

As I sat in the hospital with my mom one year ago today, I read her Harry potter as she lay quietly attached to machines that were helping her breath. I painted her toes, clipped her nails, brushed her hair into an updo bun. I cried, I told her how sorry i was that this was happening to her, I told her I loved her and that she was a great mama who taught us how to be strong. I told her that I wanted her to get better but understood if she was tired of fighting. I helped the nurses suction her mouth, helped them change the pads on her bed, put a blanket next to her head to keep her neck from being scrunched up, settled her each time she became alert but unaware of what was happening. Two days earlier was the last time she was awake, the last time I heard her voice tell me "Have a good night baby, I love you". Even though those days were so long and so hard, I would do anything to go back.