The Book... My Heart

A bunch of sketches in a book...
A bunch of ideas and thoughts jotted in a spiral notebook...

It has been six years, and still no where near being finished...

Expecting the Unexpected

 

A little girl looks up to her mother as she is the most amazing person in the world.  She sees her as the one who can do anything. 


She can kiss an ouchy and make it feel better.

A mother can blow her breath on steamy hot food and make the temperature just right.

She sings "Do-Re-Mi" from The Sound of Music while washing your hair.

She can scold and love at the same time.

She is there when you call her from half way around the world because you're home sick.

Just the sound of her voice makes everything better.  Knowing she is in the next room while you sleep gives you security.

Children usually tell their parents that when they grow up they want to be something that makes their parents proud of them.
When I was a little girl I would tell her that when I grew up I would invent a pill that would enable her to live forever.

And I never expected to lose my mother at 26... but I did.

I didn't see it coming. 

I wasn't prepared for any of it.

And not a day goes by that I don't think about it... about her...

And I can only hope that a piece of her is in me, that I can pass down to my children. 
Because I would be so lucky...

A year has already flown right past me.  A whole year...
...and yet only a fraction of the time that will pass me by without a mother.

I've been told by many different people in different points in my life to expect the unexpected and no matter how many times I hear that phrase, and the context... I realize that we can expect it, but we cannot be prepared for it.

When Valentine's Day meant...

When Valentine's Day meant giving your entire class a mini Valentine's card with Pooh and Piglet or Mickey and Minnie on the front and a piece of candy that most often was a heart shaped lollipop.

When Valentine's Day meant taking a regular piece of paper, folding it in half, and writing a roses are red poem followed by I love you written at the end with about a hundred exclamation points after it... because back then my mother told me that all the exclamation points meant that was the indicator of how much I loved her.

Before cable television became really big, and commercials and advertisements ruined this love filled day...
Before life became complicated and it became more than just giving a box of chocolates or sweethearts to someone who made you smile and giggle.

It's not about gifts and spending tons of money...
Although, the creativity does make the difference...
Like when someone gives you a box, and inside is the world.

Or when someone bakes your favorite cake and carves it into a heart...

And you know that those things that they do sprung from their love...their unconditional and positively never-changing, never-ending love.

We remind ourselves of what Valentine's Day meant before, and hope that it can still be about creativity and throughtfulness, unconditional love and sweetness.

Searching...

I'm constantly searching...

for answers...
for a way to heal...
for a way to cope...
for a way to believe that it'll all be okay...
for a way to know...


I'm constantly wanting, looking, and thinking about how hard it is to move forward while knowing such a big part of me is missing.

Advice from friends and colleagues that it will be okay, and it'll get better... it'll become easier...
And I wonder how.  That's a question that still doesn't have an answer, and may never have an answer.  Maybe there is an infinite number of answers, and not a single one is the right one.

I can more easily say that I understand how my mother felt when her mother passed away.  And I think about everything she was able to share with her, that I won't be able to share with my mother.
Walking down the aisle in a white gown...
Bringing children into the world...
Shopping together, and knowing she would always give an honest opinion...
Laughing and crying...
Arguing in Yiddish while people stare in confusion...
And always making up no matter how horrible the words are...
Watching our "chick flick" movies together while I fell asleep on her bed...

And even as I sit here, I think about how she would console me.  The things she would say and how she looked.  And I hope I never forget any of it.

Never reaching enough

I often procrastinate when I don't want to face a project that I know I need to work on, but just don't have the nerve and the guts to actually put out the effort and the energy.  I think to myself that I can take care of it later and I convince myself that it's okay to do that.  I wind up making it a habit, and then I look back on all the time that has gone by and I think about how fast all that time went, day after day, month after month or repeated procrastination.

My mother passed away in March and in the beginning of June, John and I closed on our new house.  I was lucky enough that I had some pretty amazing friends come over and not just help me move everything, but they went into my mother's bedroom and closet and packed everything up and put it all into boxes so that I wouldn't have to deal with sorting and organizing her clothing, bedding, linens, etc.

The hard part now is actually opening the boxes and going through everything.  It has been about six months since she passed away, and I still haven't brought myself to the point where I can go through her things.  I just keep organizing and re-organizing everything in hopes that it will all eventually fit into smaller spaces.  Realistically I know that won't happen, but a girl can dream can't she?

I've been told that if I can't identify a box's contents by looking at the unopened box, then that means what is inside wasn't a necessity and that I should be able to just get rid of it.  Of course, I don't think that's a good idea.  I'm not a hoarder, but I'm also not the type to waste things that could have been used by someone.

Maybe the reason it's so hard for me to let go of everything is because I don't want to let go of my mother.  Maybe because there are so many things I still want to say to her and can't.  Maybe it's because I know I'll never hear her voice again, or see her face again.  Maybe it's because I know I can't change anything that has already happened.  Maybe it's because every time I think of her, I remember all of her sacrifice and I remember how long it had been since I said "thank you" to her for things she did for me, and advice she gave me when she knew I needed it without my having to ask.

According to Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, when we’re dying or have suffered a catastrophic loss, we all move through five distinct stages of grief. We go into denial because the loss is so unthinkable we can’t imagine it’s true. We become angry with everyone and angry with ourselves. Then we bargain. We beg. We plead. We offer everything we have, we offer our souls if we could in exchange for just one more day. When the bargaining has failed and the anger is too hard to maintain, we fall into depression, despair, until finally we have to accept that we’ve done everything we can. We let go. We let go and move into acceptance.

Right now, I'm in the angry stage.  And it's not the same for everyone because I depict anger as more rage inclusive.  I get so angry with myself that I cry.  And I don't know how many tears I may have to cry before my body thinks it has been enough.  I may never reach enough.

When everything smells of cinnamon

When I'm stressed or lonely or need some comfort in the moment, I bake.  And I don't just bake a few cookies or one two layered cake, and I would never dream of making one apple pie or just one baking pan of brownies.

There's been a lot of loneliness and depression lately, so needless to say that quite a few pies, cakes, and cookies have come out of my kitchen over the last couple of months.

This cake takes a long time to make because of all of the individual layers, but tastes very moist and has the capability of fulfilling any sized sweet spot.

I also ventured into baking peanut butter blossoms for the first time, and if I do say so myself, they turned out quite nicely:

And then there were the apple pies with crumb topping.  They were such a big hit that they didn't last long enough to take nice photos of them.  It took longer to prepare and bake than it took for them to disappear into people's stomachs.

I've always made time during the holiday season to bake and I try to make at least one new thing every year.  The most time consuming one year was chocolate covered gummy bears.  I also learned to make a low fat and low cholesterol pumpkin bread and a banana bread.

And one thing to remember about me and my baking habits... I add cinnamon to absolutely positively everything... pies, cakes, cookies, breads... And of course, everything smells better with cinnamon. 

A Long Haul



It has been a long time since I have written.  I was just going through my older posts, and I can't believe it has been over FIVE months since the last time I wrote... not that I haven't written anything, just that I haven't had the courage to post...to put it all out there.

So, good news always first right?  Everyone always wants the good stuff before they have to hear about all the bad stuff.

I got a promotion at work!  I have been the new Operations Supervisor since the beginning of May.  Woohoo for moving onward and upward!

John and I closed on our house in the beginning of June!  Yep, we bought a house!  No more asking a landlord permission for anything!  We can add another furry addition to our family if we want to!  We can re-paint and change the flooring!  Which FYI, is going to happen because this house is all different shades of blue.  But I guess it could be worse right?  Could be some aweful pink and green colors that would have stopped me from moving into this house as fast as we did.  I would have had a painter come and and splash the whole place white just to get rid of the hideousness.  But blue is something I can live with 'til next year.  In the mean time, unpacking is my goal.  We have so much stuff...

and now that leads me into the bad news...

On March 2nd, my mother passed away.  I can say that the one memory that sticks out the most in my mind when she was in the hospital, is that the last things we said to each other was "I love you".  I have so many things I still want to say and because I can't say them to her now, I am at a loss for words.  I cry a lot... so much sometimes that it takes away all of my energy and I fall asleep. 

Even though I moved out of the house we lived in together for the last 4 years... I inherited all of her things... and unpacking is memory after memory of her... she's all around me.  I suppose that can be a positive process for me...reminiscing in the stories behind everything she owned.  The hard part is that I haven't been able to part with anything.  It is mostly boxed up and in the "box room" which will one day be called the guest bedroom.

Ever since my mother and I had moved in together, I had been taking care of Georgie, her golden retriever.  He's seven years old now, and I know will lose a big part of myself when he dies.  But I'm very happy that he has managed to make a play-mate out of my tabby cat, Knickers.  Knickers is nine years old, and may actually out-live Georgie.  Knickers has been mine since I rescued him in March of 2006.  These two keep me on my toes and I think remind me that it's okay to play rough every once in a while, and not to forget to have fun.

So although this isn't a long post with lots of intricate details...what I'm hoping you understand is that I have had a lot on my plate, and although I had a small LoA... I haven't forgotten to write.  I was avoiding it because I wasn't ready to face the whole truth.  And...maybe I'm still not.  But I have to start somewhere.  It definitely is going to be a long haul...