Your First Birthday in Heaven

I hate that I can't just call you today.  Remember when Angela, Kristen and I flew out and surprised you for your 60th birthday?  I often watch the video of that because it was before your voice was gone, and it just is good to hear you laugh, cry and talk all at once.  I've even imagined it was something like that when you entered heaven... People you love standing in line waiting to hug you, and then your surprise because it had been so many years... Your own mom--to get to hug her.  Oh, I wish I could've watched that moment.  When I feel like the weight of losing you is too heavy and I wonder if I will ever feel like I used to again--without that pit in my stomach--I'm reminded that you did it.  You lost your mom way before I did.  You pressed through and found constant joy again--not just here and there, but constant joy.  You encourage me even in your absence.

This morning I went to groceries for Christmas with Jason's family coming and kept feeling a wave of emotion.  I couldn't even pinpoint it-- was it just because it's your birthday, or because I miss you or because I feel for dad today and hate that there's nothing I can do to help with that ache.  So I did something... I drove to the new Von Maur.  The smell is the same.  The live piano, the Christmas decorations took me back to when we would come see you at work.  They just opened one in Grand Rapids.  The first time I went in there I cried because it was soon after we had come home from your funeral.  They had just put up the Christmas decor and some random guy walked right in,  sat down and played "The Old Rugged Cross" and then got up and walked away.  It felt like you were even there.

Then when I went Meijer, and those cookies you used to always have with your coffee were on an end cap so I bought some (Pepperidge Farms Milano).  I just ate one. I have no idea why you liked those! But I have started to appreciate coffee with something sweet...not a great habit, but it reminds me of you, so the girls and I will often get a Starbucks coffee and a lemon pound cake and share it.  I love those little things about you.

You would've been 70 today.  Dad isn't ready to give away your clothes, etc. (none of us are ready for that), but I asked him if each of the girls could take a sweatshirt and he was happy to have them grab one.  I wore one of your blouses to our staff Christmas party, and was pretty much overdressed but didn't care because it felt right. Tay wears that yellow zip up jacket that you used to wear when you go for walks.  She's gotten a lot of compliments on it and loves getting to say, "It was my grandma's".  She said her friends can't believe it because 1. Most grandmas aren't as small as Tay and 2. It's actually cute.  Dad wrapped the one jacket you had on when we went to Disney Springs with you guys (where you and Aly were dancing in the streets--I love that video).  He gave it to Aly with her Christmas presents, and we all cried, but it's so special to have things like that.  

Dad spoke on hope today.  I listened.  He has said some mornings are so hard and then right before he speaks he is overwhelmed with peace.  Almost every Sunday since you became too sick to go to church I tried to take time to listen because just hearing dad's voice gives me a sense of security, but I wanted to see if I could hear in his voice if he was doing ok.  I know one of the things he misses most is coming home after church to talk about the morning with you.  Both he and Brady have started to share at times and had a hard time stopping the tears.  

Remember one of our last conversations?  I said the thing I would miss the most is calling or texting you.  You have always been the person I can show my ugliest side to, my rawest emotion and unhealthy messy stuff.  I could call to brag on Jason and my kids, their grades and accomplishments, the way they handled themselves in hard situations--just things I don't even tell friends because it's just awkward bragging or ugly venting.  You would talk me down from my ugliness, even say things that would make me mad to help me see how ridiculous I was being, or sometimes you would get frustrated with me and validate what I was feeling.  You would always celebrate with me over the littlest things to the biggest victories.  When we talked about me missing that Dad said, "Then you can call me."   He misses you so bad I know it feels like more than he can bare at times, but even so he still texts us daily to see how we are doing, to talk through the emotions we are feeling, to share how he is doing, to see how he can pray.  He started a group text with all the grandkids.  My girls love it.  But last week was a major breaking point for me where heaviness was just consuming.  Dad and I talked on the phone. As I vented and cried he identified, but also gently put me in my place.  I felt like I did after I would talk to you.

That was the one thing you would cry about most when we talked about you dying... just the thought of dad being alone and knowing the grief he would have to walk through.  We have all been so quick to try to fix anything we can with each other when something goes wrong.  But I'm learning  that grief is a thing that just doesn't fix and go away.  I've thought of it like Aly's ACL... There's an injury where it feels impossible to walk, then surgery and physical therapy, but nothing gives it a quick fix.  When it's healed it's not the same.  There are often reminders of the injury.  You can walk on it again and maybe even run, but it just functions a little differently.  I'm trying to rest in the process.

I believe that you can see and know certain things in our lives even now.  I don't know to what extent, but I will continue to pursue and trust God even when things don't make sense to me.  You did that so well.  Jason has been so good to me and tender with my heart.  The girls are all in a good place growing in their relationship with God and rocking their grades like pros.  Caleb is ornery, but such a lover.  Every night he begs Josh to ask Jesus into his heart, and Josh says, "It's just hard".  I don't think he quite gets it yet, but he gets that you are with Jesus and likes to talk about that.  

I wish I could hug you, but for now will remember you.  What a gift that I got to have you here as long as I did.  I look forward to our reunion.  Happy 1st Birthday in Heaven.  I love you, Mom!