Have you ever been body surfing? You know that moment when you aren't paying attention and a wave rolls in...picks you up, and then slams you to ocean floor. That in itself is bad enough, but then it adds insult to injury when the next wave hits you and fills your lungs with salt water instead of the air your gasping for. And another. When it's over you find your bathing suit displaced, hair ratted into a nest that sits halfway on your head and halfway in your face, and you crawl like a creature from the deep towards higher ground. THIS IS WHAT MY LIFE FEELS LIKE RIGHT NOW. I somehow survived the beating, and now I'm just trying to get to shore.
You know the quote "Grief is like the oceans, it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." I used to like that quote. Until I experienced grief firsthand. There is no swimming when the waves hit you, there's just surviving. All you can do is learn how to survive the surges until you can come up for air and drag your disheveled self to dry land. There has been a lot of sadness to wade through over the past year, but these breakers have been few and far between thankfully. It would make sense that this time of year might be hard, from Easter, her birthday, her death, spreading her ashes, Mother's Day and her funeral. Memories buried deep are brought to the surface. Salty. Suffocating.
I feel like I'm on the sand again...I survived. I know this won't feel so awful as each year passes, and I will soon be equipped to dive below the surf and swim out to calmer seas. Time heals, even the things we can't fathom.
Mother's Day. I thought if I stayed busy somehow I could ignore the void. I wanted to stuff it full of camping, wilderness, hiking, & s'mores. Funny how that never works. Last year on Mother's Day we buried our Mom. We took her ashes in a clay urn and packed it in a backpack and did our annual Mother's Day hike to Crescent Creek Bridge. We let go of the last tangible piece of her. It was the last time we would do that hike on Mother's Day.
So this was our first Mother's Day without our tradition. Our second without her.
I love that even though my heart is troubled, that isn't where I stay. Nobody gets left in the swells. There is always a pause. A moment to catch breath and pull yourself to safety. My mom's favorite verse in her last days was Psalm 61:1-3 "Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; From the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy." I know for her it was the only consolation through her suffering. It isn't easy to talk about what we went through, what we watched her go through. Those memories that we tried to bury with her, those ones that come to the surface and beat us down into the depths. Watching someone you love die. It is something that mangles you. Reciting this verse to your mom as you scrub the flesh off her body in a bathtub as she cries. Singing hymns as you bandage open wounds where the tumors replace skin. Praying as you apply pressure to alleviate the pain she endured as the cancer invaded. Crying with her as you desperately try and push the arm that is swollen from lymphedema into a compression sleeve. This was our life. This was her death.
We didn't have time to process while we lived it. We were on autopilot. We were brave. She needed us to be. But now she's gone and those memories are foaming in the wake. And here I am calling out to the same Father to ease my suffering. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Knowing what I know now there are million things I might change. But life is not a 'Choose your own Adventure' book...you know the ones where if you don't like the ending you can go back and choose another?! I am grateful, even for the things that have left their mark deep in my soul. I know that God is going to take what's broken and use it for something amazing. Her suffering. My sorrow. Neither are in vain.
I know for those of you who read my blog who also loved my mom this one in particular will be harder to read. I apologize for that. It is part of my story, it is part of who am I now. And it is part of why I struggle. It is also part of the ink that God will use in tapestry of my life, he will restore what was destroyed. Nothing that happens to us is without purpose. We choose if we will allow beauty to come from the ashes.
I did my weigh on the 30th...I was actually surprised that the scale said 219 because by golly I have been on/off so much over the past month AND I had no idea what I was starting at because the last time I had weighed was months prior. I am not shooting for what I weighed when I was in high school or anything, although it floors me to think I thought I was FAT at 125 pounds! BUT I do want to be at a healthy BMI. The scale or jean size always seems to ruin my progress...maybe not so much them as my unrealistic expectations...either way monthly weigh ins are best. This was a HARD month too, so much emotional baggage to unpack! I hope that over this next month I can have less bad days, and progress more towards my physical goals. I'm tweaking my diet for the next couple weeks to see if eliminating some stuff might help me FEEL better.
My bloodwork came back good. No blood or lymphatic cancer, which was somewhat of a concern as I had some symptoms (and family history) that aligned with Lymphoma or Leukemia possibly being the culprit. AND my white count is finally down! I had to really stick to the homeopathic regiment and not let the nay-sayers in the traditional medical field affect my gut on what I felt was the right course of action. Now I just have to get that mammogram out of the way to make sure that pesky lymph node on my neck is NOT due to anything brewing in there. I hate that part. Going in for a mammogram after losing your mom to breast cancer sucks.
Have I ever mentioned how blessed I am for my amazing friends, my wonderful kids, and more than anything my rock star hubby? I am one hot mess yet I am continually encouraged, uplifted, and supported by a tribe of fantastic human beings. So many of you have reached out and shared with me your stories, your struggles, and it is so humbling. There is significance in being honest. In sharing our pain. I think it's the point of our existence. Loving each other, authentically. Genuine.
I read through all my notes from my mom. I found one she wrote me in February of 2017, her handwriting is messy because of the lymphedema in her right hand. She would lose the use of her hand in March, so this is the last note she wrote me herself. It says: Joy, where do I start!? You are so precious to me. I could not do without you. You just do it all and never complain.❤ All those hard memories. Every, single, one was worth it. It was an honor to be there for her when she needed me. And she appreciated it. I get a little miffed that I have to do without her. But I am grateful. For the good, the bad, and the ugly. Grateful for each and every breath. Even being there when she breathed her last.
You know the quote "Grief is like the oceans, it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." I used to like that quote. Until I experienced grief firsthand. There is no swimming when the waves hit you, there's just surviving. All you can do is learn how to survive the surges until you can come up for air and drag your disheveled self to dry land. There has been a lot of sadness to wade through over the past year, but these breakers have been few and far between thankfully. It would make sense that this time of year might be hard, from Easter, her birthday, her death, spreading her ashes, Mother's Day and her funeral. Memories buried deep are brought to the surface. Salty. Suffocating.
I feel like I'm on the sand again...I survived. I know this won't feel so awful as each year passes, and I will soon be equipped to dive below the surf and swim out to calmer seas. Time heals, even the things we can't fathom.
Mother's Day. I thought if I stayed busy somehow I could ignore the void. I wanted to stuff it full of camping, wilderness, hiking, & s'mores. Funny how that never works. Last year on Mother's Day we buried our Mom. We took her ashes in a clay urn and packed it in a backpack and did our annual Mother's Day hike to Crescent Creek Bridge. We let go of the last tangible piece of her. It was the last time we would do that hike on Mother's Day.
So this was our first Mother's Day without our tradition. Our second without her.
I love that even though my heart is troubled, that isn't where I stay. Nobody gets left in the swells. There is always a pause. A moment to catch breath and pull yourself to safety. My mom's favorite verse in her last days was Psalm 61:1-3 "Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; From the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy." I know for her it was the only consolation through her suffering. It isn't easy to talk about what we went through, what we watched her go through. Those memories that we tried to bury with her, those ones that come to the surface and beat us down into the depths. Watching someone you love die. It is something that mangles you. Reciting this verse to your mom as you scrub the flesh off her body in a bathtub as she cries. Singing hymns as you bandage open wounds where the tumors replace skin. Praying as you apply pressure to alleviate the pain she endured as the cancer invaded. Crying with her as you desperately try and push the arm that is swollen from lymphedema into a compression sleeve. This was our life. This was her death.
We didn't have time to process while we lived it. We were on autopilot. We were brave. She needed us to be. But now she's gone and those memories are foaming in the wake. And here I am calling out to the same Father to ease my suffering. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Knowing what I know now there are million things I might change. But life is not a 'Choose your own Adventure' book...you know the ones where if you don't like the ending you can go back and choose another?! I am grateful, even for the things that have left their mark deep in my soul. I know that God is going to take what's broken and use it for something amazing. Her suffering. My sorrow. Neither are in vain.
I know for those of you who read my blog who also loved my mom this one in particular will be harder to read. I apologize for that. It is part of my story, it is part of who am I now. And it is part of why I struggle. It is also part of the ink that God will use in tapestry of my life, he will restore what was destroyed. Nothing that happens to us is without purpose. We choose if we will allow beauty to come from the ashes.
I did my weigh on the 30th...I was actually surprised that the scale said 219 because by golly I have been on/off so much over the past month AND I had no idea what I was starting at because the last time I had weighed was months prior. I am not shooting for what I weighed when I was in high school or anything, although it floors me to think I thought I was FAT at 125 pounds! BUT I do want to be at a healthy BMI. The scale or jean size always seems to ruin my progress...maybe not so much them as my unrealistic expectations...either way monthly weigh ins are best. This was a HARD month too, so much emotional baggage to unpack! I hope that over this next month I can have less bad days, and progress more towards my physical goals. I'm tweaking my diet for the next couple weeks to see if eliminating some stuff might help me FEEL better.
My bloodwork came back good. No blood or lymphatic cancer, which was somewhat of a concern as I had some symptoms (and family history) that aligned with Lymphoma or Leukemia possibly being the culprit. AND my white count is finally down! I had to really stick to the homeopathic regiment and not let the nay-sayers in the traditional medical field affect my gut on what I felt was the right course of action. Now I just have to get that mammogram out of the way to make sure that pesky lymph node on my neck is NOT due to anything brewing in there. I hate that part. Going in for a mammogram after losing your mom to breast cancer sucks.
Have I ever mentioned how blessed I am for my amazing friends, my wonderful kids, and more than anything my rock star hubby? I am one hot mess yet I am continually encouraged, uplifted, and supported by a tribe of fantastic human beings. So many of you have reached out and shared with me your stories, your struggles, and it is so humbling. There is significance in being honest. In sharing our pain. I think it's the point of our existence. Loving each other, authentically. Genuine.
I read through all my notes from my mom. I found one she wrote me in February of 2017, her handwriting is messy because of the lymphedema in her right hand. She would lose the use of her hand in March, so this is the last note she wrote me herself. It says: Joy, where do I start!? You are so precious to me. I could not do without you. You just do it all and never complain.❤ All those hard memories. Every, single, one was worth it. It was an honor to be there for her when she needed me. And she appreciated it. I get a little miffed that I have to do without her. But I am grateful. For the good, the bad, and the ugly. Grateful for each and every breath. Even being there when she breathed her last.
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