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Day Twenty-Four, Twenty-Five, & Twenty-six

My kids found a dead beaver in the lake yesterday. You would have thought it was gold with how giddy they were. I would have joined them in a happy dance had it been gold too. Unfortunately it was a rather large, rather rotten beaver. They used a fishing net to scoop him out and proceeded to drag him into the yard. Discussions began about what parts of him needed to be salvaged...a mother's worst nightmare. None. Please don't cut anything off that decaying creature. Sully with childlike wonder disagreed. "Off with his head!" and the kidsfolk cheered. Apparently every Alaskan home needs a beaver skull?! I almost found it entertaining to see them all gagging as the dissection began, I stayed a safe distance away by the fire, never have I been so happy to choke on smoke rather than smell rancid beaver. Did you know that putrid aroma clings to fabric? I didn't. Not until I loaded the kids into my car to retrieve s'more's supplies from the local 7-11. Halfway down the road I caught a whiff of putrescent rodent, the rest of the trip I used one hand to drive while the other plugged my nose. Some days we receive unexpected gifts, and isn't it quite funny that the value of the gift is truly in the eye of the beholder? BEST DAY EVER according to my odious children. I however, did not share their enthusiasm. Maybe that really is the secret to happiness. Finding the joy, even in the decay. Choosing to see it, maybe just not smell it?!


This past few days, the ones where the wind was supposed to pick up and I was going to sail into the sunset of success...they haven't really gone as planned. Shame on me for planning. I should know better than to have expectations. When will I learn to face each day as it comes? 

I can recognize the squall I'm in. Memories of this time last year, blew in with hurricane force. Memories that threaten to capsize. A year ago today was the last time my mom spoke to me. The last time she squeezed my hand. The last time she looked into my eyes. She would slip into a comatose state in the night and tomorrow is the anniversary of her death. The trauma that we experienced in walking that journey with her, so closely, so unbelievably raw, it surfaced this week. Because until this day we were in it together. In so many ways, the months that led up to her passing we had all began dying with her in our own way. Believe me when I say, living is impossible when you are watching someone you love die. But soon the cord would be cut, and we would all have to flounder around in our grief and find our own way out. There is a feeling of dread, despair that comes over you when you are faced with the reality of something you don't want to experience. When you are sitting at the bedside of you most treasured friend knowing there is no coming back from this. Facing mortality and the finality of life here on earth is the greatest heartbreak I have ever encountered and there literally is no word to describe it. There are parts of you that want to run away. But the part that loves them tethers you there. For 35 years she had been the heart of my very existence. These memories are like weights, pushing me down. I know the story doesn't end on May 8, 2017 at 10:58 pm. I am fully aware that is only where it truly began for her. I want to live 1 Thessalonians 4:13 ~ "Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uniformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope." It's still hard to grapple with our loss. Those hard memories of her last days still sear me to the core. Her absence runs deep like the grand canyon through the landscape of my life. I am still broken. He hath made everything beautiful...in His time. (Ecclesiastes 3:11)


I couldn't sleep last night. I watched out the big picture window into my front yard as the night creeped in slowly. Listened to the sounds of the baseboard heater popping and watched the trees sway in the gentle breeze. I often avoid the silence, because it is in the quiet the memories trickle in. Those memories I try so hard to suppress. We read in church yesterday about the crucifixion of Jesus. A story I have heard, could repeat verbatim since I was young...but never fully comprehended till I truly looked death in the face. The face of the woman who had once rocked me to sleep, who had wiped my tears, who had loved me unconditionally. Death. Jesus saved us from the grave. We don't deserve it, and many won't accept it, but he so graciously offers it up to us anyways. I can't imagine what grief must feel like for those without hope. 


Tomorrow will be equally hard. Even though I know I will be reunited with my mom in heaven someday, as Aiden often says, "It's feels like it's going to be to long." When someone is such an intricate part of your everyday life, such a source of your joy, it is hard to move on without them. So often people try and compare heartache, like there is some sort of medal of grief to be won. I can't tell you how many times people in attempt to comfort compare my loss to theirs. Or say things like "It is natural to bury your parents' and even 'At least your husband or kids didn't die.' I have learned that people don't mean to add insult to injury...even though often time they do. I certainly do not think I cornered the market on heartbreak.  I see no winner when it comes to loss either. Each loss is as individual as the person is who passed. And as personal as the relationship was to each person grieving. 


I miss her. I always will. But I grieve with hope. And I have no doubt that God will work even this for my good. 

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