Three

"Time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired." (Robert Southey)

Every year, on the anniversary of my Mom's passing into heaven, I struggle to find a fitting tribute or activity to celebrate her memory.  Last year I poured over photos, watched her favorite movie "Tombstone", and created and listened to a playlist of her favorite songs.  As I type this now, Pat Boone's "Love Letters In the Sand" is playing.  So, this year, I'm doing more reminiscing and still looking through photographs, listening to her music and, during dinner, will be watching Doc Holiday deliver some of the best dialogue in movie history.

 

My story isn’t particularly unique in any way. I'm not the first girl to have lost her parents. If anything, I was blessed to have had the love of a Mother and Father in my life and the opportunity to keep them for as long as God loaned them out to me.

Today I've been retracing my footsteps and remembering where I was each moment of the day leading up to my Mom's death. Tonight will mark three years. I talked to my Mom almost every day of my life. I would start my workday with a phone call to say good morning and to hear about her take on American Idol (or whatever TV show she was enjoying at the moment). Adorably, she would take notes during American Idol and next to each contestant’s name, she would write her thoughts about the performance and then, in a corresponding column, what Paula, Randy and Simon had to say. There’s an endless list of things I miss about her and it seems that every day that passes takes her further and further away from me. And while the tears don't flow as often, the pain still feels as fresh as it did then.

There are moments in your life that change you. Some alter you physically, some spiritually and emotionally - for better or worse. My Mother's death was the most defining moment of my life. It was like I was given written instructions on how to swim, having never put a toe in the water, and was then thrown into the deep end of the pool. Things have never been quite the same as they once were. The words "safe" and "home" were once so familiar to me and are now just a bittersweet memory.

I'm surrounded every day by their presence. When I sing, I hear my Mom's voice and it makes my heart swell. When I get frustrated, I see my Dad's furrowed brow in the mirror and it makes smile. I see them in my dreams some nights and wish we could have those celestial visits more often.

Last night, we found out that my nephew will be welcoming a girl, my parent’s 2nd great-grandchild, into the family this summer. My Mom would have been tickled pink (literally) knowing there was a little girl on the way.  In her own words, "I just love babies!!"  It's moments like these I wish they were here to share the news and excitement, but I'm sure they're having a proud great-grandparent moment up in heaven telling the rest of their family and friends.

I miss them every day and three years later, I'm still doggy-paddling.  I know someday it won't be such a struggle and I'll be able to float.  

And for my brother, to whom I promised the "best video ever", this one's for you.  I remember these afternoons like it was yesterday and am so happy we took the initiative to take photographs, ask questions, and shoot video.  This particular video is priceless as a Grandma teaches her youngest grandchild about heaven.

I'll see you again someday, Momma Bird. Tweet, tweet.