Before Conrad started Kindergarten, I worked at home every Thursday and Friday. It was a very special time for me. Not only was I able to enjoy my career, but I could be with my little guy at the same time. Every Friday evening, after my "grueling day at the office" my mom would stop by to pick us up. We would go out to eat somewhere simple, like Arby's. Then, SHOPPING!!!
  
This summer my employer has been very generous, allowing me to work at home on Fridays. It is a joy to work in my home office and hear Conrad's playful chattering in the background. My dogs lazing at my feet. My cats nosing around, too. Then, I hear the side door rattle and eventually open. (It has a tendency to stick.) The dogs bark. And, for a few seconds my mom is there.

Her shoes clunk against the wood floor. There is breathful exasperation. (She always hated how that door sticks.) Then she sings-songs her "hellloooo!" It is my mom. She has come home! She is standing in the doorway -- "Puppers" and "Mogli" running to greet her. She never sits. She just stands there patiently waiting -- cooing to the dogs. Examining the latest and greatest contraption that Conrad presents her with.

And then, as quickly as she came, she is gone. And I sit and I cry -- longing for what will never be again.

People tell me memories are wonderful. They say they will bring me peace and happiness. 

But, right now, I don't feel it. I only feel the loneliness of an empty doorway.

No one ever told me grief would be like this.

No one ever told me that...

The first thought I would have upon waking is, "My mom is not here."

The last thought I would have before sleeping is, "My mom is not here."

I would see the sun, but not feel it.

I would hear the laughter, but not embrace it.

The sound of your voice is what I would miss most.

The silence would sting so badly.

Nothing would matter.

Life would lose its purpose.

Time would not heal the pain.

The things I once loved would no longer be mine.

I would die too.

Dear Mom,

You are more than my mom. You are my best friend.

You are more than my best friend. You are my mom.

Not even death can take that away.

Love,

Kerry

As I signed on today, I was surprised to see that many people are still reading this blog. Of course, I have not been posting very regularly. But, that is not because my mom has escaped my mind or my heart. This grief is suffocating at times. And, it is a huge energy zapper. This week has been slightly better. And, it is my hope to start writing again, more regularly. I have some very important things to share. Today, is just a simple letter to my mom.

Dear Mom,

Yesterday I was thinking about all of our triumphs during our year with cancer. At first I was very sad, thinking that somehow your death erased our triumphant moments. But, then I realized that is impossible.

Nothing can take away your phone call, telling me that your esophagus was back to its normal size. Did you know that after that phone call, I ran out to the warehouse (I was at work) and gave Charlie the biggest hug ever? I also went out back, behind the warehouse and yelled and screamed for joy! There was no hiding my elation.

Or how about the time in October, a couple weeks after we learned of the mets to the brain, you and I went to the zoo and then to a check-up with Dr. Ritch? We saw the doctor in the hall who told us that you only had months to live. I looked him square in the eye and said, "Look at my mom! Look at how wonderful she is doing!!" Then we rode all the way to Barnes and Noble with the sun roof open.

One of my favorite triumphant moments was the time you drove yourself to church. It was late fall and you were tired of waiting for Dad. So, you hopped in the car and drove yourself to church. I was waiting in the parking lot for Dad to drop you off. And, you pulled up, driving yourself! I jumped up and down in the parking lot, pumping my fists in the air. You were wearing a bright pink scarf.

Then there was the time that you butt-bumped yourself all the way down the stairs to your basement. You were having difficulty walking and stairs were especially hard. But, you were insistent on getting downstairs to go through some of your things with Craig. I can remember Conrad standing at the bottom of the stairs cheering, "Go Mimi, Go! Go Mimi, Go!" You have the greatest fan club in the world.

Right before Christmas, we had a very important appointment with your doctors to see how the cancer was responding to the treatments. You were very afraid that day, thinking that we would receive bad news. But, I will never forget the look on your face when all of your doctors told you that the news couldn't be better. Many of the tumors were no longer visible. The other had shrunk significantly. You were so surprised. Your eyebrows were raised, and mouth open in a smile of astonishment. You, Dad and I went for lunch at Oscars after that appointment. Christmas music never sounded more wonderful.

Love,

kerry

A little bird came into my life today.

I think she was hit by a car. When I saw her, she was fluttering in the road.

I stopped, put her in a fuzzy towel, and stroked her head gently.

"It is okay." I told her. "I will hold you and keep you safe. Then you will go home to God."

When I held her, she didn't fight. She wasn't scared. She just looked at me with calm and peace in her one brown eye.

She passed away soon after. I laid her to rest in the tall grass.

In our short life together, she had given me the best gift of all. The chance to love her with all that I have.

Rest in peace, little bird. I won't forget you.

A Daughter's Envy

Envy is a healthy emotion that inspires us to reach for our grandest desires.

So, what do I do with this envy I feel toward others who have their mothers this Mother's Day?

As hard as I try, I cannot reach my mother. She is no longer here.
 
But someday, Mom, I will reach for you again as you hold your hand out to me from heaven.

And, I will never let go.

Someone said something offensive today that made me want to respond with a phrase my mom would use. Remembering her words made me smile.

"It is better to remain silent at the risk of being thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

I think Abraham Lincoln first said this. Thanks, Abe. And, thanks Mom.