Well? I would love to answer that with a yes. And I would love to open my drawer to see it all neat and tidy looking. Heck, I’d like to just open the drawer and actually have underwear in there instead of having to dig through the pile of laundry that has been on my couch for weeks hoping to find a pair. I long to have everything put in its place where it belongs. I once heard that you can tell a lot about a person by how the inside of their car looks. Oh heavens, bless the poor soul who peeks in the window of my Suburban. And what might people think when they do see my mess? Really the question is “What will they think of me?”
Let’s be honest – I’ve got PuhLENTY of mess! My car. My house. Me. Me. Me.
For months I’ve been pulling it all together to get from one moment to the next without falling apart. Survival. There were very few people who I felt safe to have a “moment” in front of – or on the phone with. Truth is I really didn’t want to have a “moment” because I was scared to death that I wouldn’t be able to pull it all back in. I really had no idea what a mess I was on the inside until October 31, standing in JoAnn’s Fabric and I dialed Momma’s cell to tell her about Jackson’s costume that Daddy and I had pulled together at the last moment. My world fell into a million shattered pieces right there in the check out line (that was a mile long, btw). I scared the hell out of a bunch of people too. And then it happened again an hour later as I was trying to load teenage girls in the car for a football game but this time I was on the phone with my Daddy – the last person in the world that I’d want to have a melt down in front of, oh but I did. And my mess was out.
What if I told you that I’m still hashing it out with God. That I’m still angry that He didn’t fix this. And why not? Why does someone else get healed but she doesn’t? What if I told you that I have days when I don’t want to talk to God? That some days, I don’t want to get out of bed, and I don’t. That while I feel stuck and like my world has come to a screeching halt all the while watching everyone go on like nothing’s happened just makes me want to scream? That I sometimes feel completely horrible and totally guilty for laughing or smiling? That I lie in bed at night and cry myself to sleep. Do you think of me for the worse knowing this?
Our family has been thrown on a journey that we wanted no part of. We didn’t ask for it and there was no getting off it. It has devastated us and it has rocked us to the core. There is a hole in our hearts that will never ever be mended or filled. Grief sucks just as much as the cancer did. But know what’s helped to ease the pain? You sharing your stories and thoughts of Momma. Please keep talking about her. I know it’s hard but it’s so good at the same time.
This morning I got a FB message from a friend who also worked with Momma and she asked if I had Momma’s recipe for blueberry salad, if I didn’t she’d send it to me. Oh my gosh the memories that flooded back from the recesses of my mind of all the Christmas gone by of Momma and that salad. Truth be told, Momma and I were the only ones that liked it and I don’t think we liked it as much as the other thought we did. Everyone else just played along while Daddy flat-out refused it. And every stinkin’ year she would make a 5 gallon bucket of it. And at the end of the day I’d have to take all the leftovers home with me. But she probably knew all of that already so the jokes on me!
Or the card I got in the mail this week that said “My memories of your mom are of ‘smiley eyes’, a sweet voice and always there with you and for you and your children. A blessing for sure!”
I love the stories, your recollections. Please keep them coming! I, we really need you to.
“Keep me as the apple of your eye…hide me in the shadow of your wings…” ~ Psalm 17:8