This evening, we sat in the pool house and stuck pictures of Mom and us on to poster board. We thought, foolishly, that one board would be enough, but we soon realized we needed more poster boards. More than 2. More than 3... Really, how are you supposed to condense 58 1/2 years of life, living, and loving on to poster boards? So many didn't make it on and yet, once we were done, we couldn't stop staring at it, letting our eyes roam from picture to picture, never really deciding on which one we like the most. Just small glimpses in to her life.. and our life with her.
It made it so real. I stared at her picture and it really hit me... She's not coming back. She's not at the store and she's not going to walk around the corner any second now. She's really gone. For reals gone. No more conversations. No more hugs. No more laughter from her. Just memories. Stories. Pictures.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
My Stories
The good thing about my mom is that she loved and touched so many people. I keep hearing people tell me how much they loved her and how she was like a mom for them. And I admit... while it's great to hear and I honor and love that so much, it's tough to hear because a part of me says "Yes, but she was MY mom and now she's gone". The truth is, it's hard to grieve her when so many are grieving for her and telling me what she meant to them and what they lost. I get it. I do. It's just hard to process their grief and my grief at the same time. It's like overload.
I have a hard time talking about my relationship with my mom. It was... good, great. She was my mom for 31 1/2 years and became my best friend about ten years ago. She was the one I could turn to when things blew up in my face, when I had the ugly cry going on, when I felt lost or scared or alone, when I had good news and not so good news, when I needed to just vent and throw things out into the void, and when I needed someone to tell me the hard truths. She was that friend who could listen, hand you a tissue, and tell you what you needed to know... not what you wanted to hear.
But she was a mom as well. Her and my dad had a baby boy a few years before I was born. Kacey John Covell. He was born premature and had too many health problems. He died a day or two after he was born. When I was little, I used to write him letters and give them to my mom, fully believing she would be the one to get them to heaven for me. As a mom, I can't imagine the pain her and my dad felt for the rest of their lives. The pain when he died... and the twinges every now and then when the mind would drift to "What If.." thoughts.
She had me a few years after and I was premature as well. Somewhere around two months premature, as the story goes. The hospital she had me in was not equipped to handle a preemie like me.. so they rushed me by ambulance from South Lake Tahoe to Reno, NV. The minute my mom was discharged the next day or so, her and my dad drove down to Reno and began their watch over me. I weighed something like 2 pounds, a few ounces. I was small enough to fit in the palm of my Grandpa Jack's hand. I can't imagine what my parents felt as they repeatedly heard alarms go off as I struggled to remember to breathe. (The going joke was that every time my dad held me, I would get so relaxed, I'd stop breathing.) I was in the hospital for a few months and she was there, by my side, every day, as long as she could be there. I don't remember if she had to leave to work, but she was there, fighting for me and willing me to live each day.
Once out of the hospital, she used every resource available to make sure I received early intervention. To make sure I was on the right track and growing up properly. She helped me overcome so many weird little things. Like how to brush my teeth without throwing up. How to overcome texture issues or smell issues without getting sick. How to stop feeling overwhelmed by a huge task and to focus on one little thing at a time. I was a picky eater and she kept working with me until she could find healthy foods I'd eat... and then she'd have me eat them every day, pretty much. She taught me about God, about faith, and about having a personal relationship with Him that would be mine and mine alone. She taught me how to deal with bullying and cried with me when my feelings got hurt. She helped me learn to breathe each and every time I'd knock the wind out of my lungs after falling on my ass from roller skating. She gave me my first Nancy Drew book in first grade and, from then on, encouraged my voracious appetite for books.
When my parents separated, she understood why I was angry before I even understood that I WAS angry. She taught me how to deal with change while I fought tooth and nail for things to remain the same. Even though I hated the moves, she taught me how to move, how to start life in a new place, make new friends, and move again. She taught me to dream and imagine... and to chase those dreams when the time came. She taught me to plan for the worst case scenario, to go over it in my head and decide if it would still be okay, even if the worst case scenario happened. She taught me to go for it. To put my mind to it and just do it. She taught me it was okay to make mistakes, but to learn from them, forgive yourself, and then move on.
When her and Tony moved to Idaho, I chose to stay in Louisiana. From that day until the day she died, I knew that things could blow up in my face, that my heart could break, my world could fall apart, the worst case scenarios could happen, but I would be okay because I always had a home with her. She never had a lot of money, but there was always a room with my name on the door and a hot meal waiting for me when I needed it. She was my safety net and knowing she could catch me if I fell only allowed me to climb even higher.
When I became a mom, she was there to watch over Phoenix while I was still in surgery... And I knew I had nothing to worry about because my mom was watching over my baby and she would keep him safe. When I couldn't get Phoenix to sleep or to stop crying, she would take him into the kitchen and dance with him like she used to dance with me. She'd sing him the songs she sang to me and she loved him like only a Nana could. She was there to answer any question I had about Phoenix's health or behavior... or to listen to any story I had to tell about what he did, what he said, or how he reminded me of her.
We used to talk about my wedding... About what dresses we liked, what she thought I'd look good in and where she hoped I'd get married. About what food we'd have, the party we'd throw, and the music we'd play. We'd talk about Say Yes to the Dress and roll our eyes over the cost of some of those dresses. She always said she's buy my dress if I could figure out how to use her veil.
Just random things, but all of these are still only a glimpse of what she meant to me. Do I know what the world lost the day she died?? Yes. God. Yes. I will feel it every day of my life. I will hear it when I hear Phoenix singing to himself. I will see it every time the sun is out and shining. I will catch my breath every time I catch myself thinking "I have to tell Mom about that..". I'll figure out a way to live without her. We all have to, in the end. She wouldn't want it any other way, but yes.. I will miss her until my very last day. She was my super hero, my mom, my son's Nana, and my special person.
I have a hard time talking about my relationship with my mom. It was... good, great. She was my mom for 31 1/2 years and became my best friend about ten years ago. She was the one I could turn to when things blew up in my face, when I had the ugly cry going on, when I felt lost or scared or alone, when I had good news and not so good news, when I needed to just vent and throw things out into the void, and when I needed someone to tell me the hard truths. She was that friend who could listen, hand you a tissue, and tell you what you needed to know... not what you wanted to hear.
But she was a mom as well. Her and my dad had a baby boy a few years before I was born. Kacey John Covell. He was born premature and had too many health problems. He died a day or two after he was born. When I was little, I used to write him letters and give them to my mom, fully believing she would be the one to get them to heaven for me. As a mom, I can't imagine the pain her and my dad felt for the rest of their lives. The pain when he died... and the twinges every now and then when the mind would drift to "What If.." thoughts.
She had me a few years after and I was premature as well. Somewhere around two months premature, as the story goes. The hospital she had me in was not equipped to handle a preemie like me.. so they rushed me by ambulance from South Lake Tahoe to Reno, NV. The minute my mom was discharged the next day or so, her and my dad drove down to Reno and began their watch over me. I weighed something like 2 pounds, a few ounces. I was small enough to fit in the palm of my Grandpa Jack's hand. I can't imagine what my parents felt as they repeatedly heard alarms go off as I struggled to remember to breathe. (The going joke was that every time my dad held me, I would get so relaxed, I'd stop breathing.) I was in the hospital for a few months and she was there, by my side, every day, as long as she could be there. I don't remember if she had to leave to work, but she was there, fighting for me and willing me to live each day.
Once out of the hospital, she used every resource available to make sure I received early intervention. To make sure I was on the right track and growing up properly. She helped me overcome so many weird little things. Like how to brush my teeth without throwing up. How to overcome texture issues or smell issues without getting sick. How to stop feeling overwhelmed by a huge task and to focus on one little thing at a time. I was a picky eater and she kept working with me until she could find healthy foods I'd eat... and then she'd have me eat them every day, pretty much. She taught me about God, about faith, and about having a personal relationship with Him that would be mine and mine alone. She taught me how to deal with bullying and cried with me when my feelings got hurt. She helped me learn to breathe each and every time I'd knock the wind out of my lungs after falling on my ass from roller skating. She gave me my first Nancy Drew book in first grade and, from then on, encouraged my voracious appetite for books.
When my parents separated, she understood why I was angry before I even understood that I WAS angry. She taught me how to deal with change while I fought tooth and nail for things to remain the same. Even though I hated the moves, she taught me how to move, how to start life in a new place, make new friends, and move again. She taught me to dream and imagine... and to chase those dreams when the time came. She taught me to plan for the worst case scenario, to go over it in my head and decide if it would still be okay, even if the worst case scenario happened. She taught me to go for it. To put my mind to it and just do it. She taught me it was okay to make mistakes, but to learn from them, forgive yourself, and then move on.
When her and Tony moved to Idaho, I chose to stay in Louisiana. From that day until the day she died, I knew that things could blow up in my face, that my heart could break, my world could fall apart, the worst case scenarios could happen, but I would be okay because I always had a home with her. She never had a lot of money, but there was always a room with my name on the door and a hot meal waiting for me when I needed it. She was my safety net and knowing she could catch me if I fell only allowed me to climb even higher.
When I became a mom, she was there to watch over Phoenix while I was still in surgery... And I knew I had nothing to worry about because my mom was watching over my baby and she would keep him safe. When I couldn't get Phoenix to sleep or to stop crying, she would take him into the kitchen and dance with him like she used to dance with me. She'd sing him the songs she sang to me and she loved him like only a Nana could. She was there to answer any question I had about Phoenix's health or behavior... or to listen to any story I had to tell about what he did, what he said, or how he reminded me of her.
We used to talk about my wedding... About what dresses we liked, what she thought I'd look good in and where she hoped I'd get married. About what food we'd have, the party we'd throw, and the music we'd play. We'd talk about Say Yes to the Dress and roll our eyes over the cost of some of those dresses. She always said she's buy my dress if I could figure out how to use her veil.
Just random things, but all of these are still only a glimpse of what she meant to me. Do I know what the world lost the day she died?? Yes. God. Yes. I will feel it every day of my life. I will hear it when I hear Phoenix singing to himself. I will see it every time the sun is out and shining. I will catch my breath every time I catch myself thinking "I have to tell Mom about that..". I'll figure out a way to live without her. We all have to, in the end. She wouldn't want it any other way, but yes.. I will miss her until my very last day. She was my super hero, my mom, my son's Nana, and my special person.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
How Do I Begin?
I've written and deleted a hundred paragraphs since the day my mother passed away. Words just cannot do justice to the emotions that I'm feeling and the place of quiet I'm in. To say my mom meant a lot to me is like saying chocolate tastes good. Duh. It's a given. I can't explain what my mom meant to me because I haven't enough words. And I know that today, it's not just me who is missing her and expecting her to walk around the corner any second.
I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their condolences. Those who have checked up on me and reached out to me during these past few days. I see your messages. I've heard your voice mails. I'm not quite ready to talk, but understand that I know you all are there and will listen if I need to babble on and cry. I know I'm not alone and that there are so many who want to help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
The past week has been tough, but there have been some beautiful moments as well. I am so lucky that I had the chance to spend time with my mom even if she couldn't really talk to me or comfort me like she always has. I still know she heard me and she tried her best to communicate with me when she could. Like the time my night shift was up and I leaned in to kiss her. I whispered if she remembered "Eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses" and she made a sound like "Uh huh". I took my glasses off and gently brushed my nose against hers. Then I leaned over, holding my hair out of her face, and softly brushed my eyelashes against her cheek. I whispered "I Love You" in her ear and she made a sound like "I Love You" right back.
I was able to give both of us reassurance that I was going to be okay. That she had done her job well enough that I would survive in the world without her to push me and pull me along. She taught me to strike out on my own, to create a family of my own, and a support network of people to help me when I fall. I reminded her of those that are dear to me... the ones who will give me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to whisper in. It was a hard conversation... to admit that I will find a way to live without her, but it's one we both needed to hear. I felt like she had spent her whole life fighting for me, protecting me... that it was important for her to know that I'll make it through this tough time and honor her in everything I do.
My mom was more than a mother. She was a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a great friend. She would truly listen when you came to her with something and give you honest advice... even when it was something you didn't really want to hear. She wasn't perfect, but in her imperfection she taught me how to acknowledge failure and move on... To let go of heartache and disappointment and find the happy in any situation. She taught me how to find the beauty in simplicity, how to dig in and survive the hard times and enjoy the good times, and how to find something to be thankful for every day. She gave the best hugs, had a beautiful laugh, and would hum quietly as she went about her day. She meant a great many things to a lot of people.. To me... she meant everything.
I want to say thank you to everyone who has expressed their condolences. Those who have checked up on me and reached out to me during these past few days. I see your messages. I've heard your voice mails. I'm not quite ready to talk, but understand that I know you all are there and will listen if I need to babble on and cry. I know I'm not alone and that there are so many who want to help. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
The past week has been tough, but there have been some beautiful moments as well. I am so lucky that I had the chance to spend time with my mom even if she couldn't really talk to me or comfort me like she always has. I still know she heard me and she tried her best to communicate with me when she could. Like the time my night shift was up and I leaned in to kiss her. I whispered if she remembered "Eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses" and she made a sound like "Uh huh". I took my glasses off and gently brushed my nose against hers. Then I leaned over, holding my hair out of her face, and softly brushed my eyelashes against her cheek. I whispered "I Love You" in her ear and she made a sound like "I Love You" right back.
I was able to give both of us reassurance that I was going to be okay. That she had done her job well enough that I would survive in the world without her to push me and pull me along. She taught me to strike out on my own, to create a family of my own, and a support network of people to help me when I fall. I reminded her of those that are dear to me... the ones who will give me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to whisper in. It was a hard conversation... to admit that I will find a way to live without her, but it's one we both needed to hear. I felt like she had spent her whole life fighting for me, protecting me... that it was important for her to know that I'll make it through this tough time and honor her in everything I do.
My mom was more than a mother. She was a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a great friend. She would truly listen when you came to her with something and give you honest advice... even when it was something you didn't really want to hear. She wasn't perfect, but in her imperfection she taught me how to acknowledge failure and move on... To let go of heartache and disappointment and find the happy in any situation. She taught me how to find the beauty in simplicity, how to dig in and survive the hard times and enjoy the good times, and how to find something to be thankful for every day. She gave the best hugs, had a beautiful laugh, and would hum quietly as she went about her day. She meant a great many things to a lot of people.. To me... she meant everything.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)