I've been pretty down the last few days. I lay in bed before I go to sleep at night, and I think about my sweet mom. This time last year, she had undergone her final chemo treatments and decided not to continue them. They just made her too sick. I remember feeling sad about her decision, because I had so much hope that it would give her the maximum time we could have with her, but I was also so supportive, because who wants to spend the last 6-8 months of their life feeling nauseous and wanting to stay in bed all the time? While Ryan & I weren't open with many about this, we also tried briefly, maybe for about three months, to get pregnant this time last year. I so wanted the chance for my mom to meet our next child on this earth, but God knew her time was shorter than my human mind could hope for. What a protection that ultimately was, me not conceiving, because the stress wouldn't have been good for me or the baby, and I know my mom would've been stressed about my health, too. This time last year, we had returned from our last vacation with my mom to San Diego, and I remember looking at some Women of Faith Conferences, hoping maybe we could get one more trip together... So much that just wasn't meant to be.

Oh, how I miss her. I miss her in the little things, like when I watch a new show on TV, like I did this week, and I almost pick up the phone to ask her if she's seen it because I think she would've liked it. When I watch Zooey feed the ducks at the zoo, I remember how she used to buy me and Sarah the food, and watch us throw it in the pond, and I think how much she would have enjoyed seeing Zooey do it, how she would've shared in my pride. I pack Zooey's lunch for school and remember how she used to leave me little notes in my lunch box, "I love you" or "Have a good day" or "I'm praying for you." I put on her shirts that are now mine, and they don't smell like her at all anymore, even the ones that were in the bottom of the drawer that I haven't worn yet. I open the Bible she left me, and I see a highlighted passage, and sometimes I know, because we'd talked about it, how it encouraged her (& in turn encouraged me), and sometimes I wonder why she liked it so much. I rub Zooey's back and remember how I'd always ask her to rub mine, even in high school, and she always did. I miss her when I think about getting Zooey an Easter dress, and I remember how last year she was so tickled when Zooey walked down the hall showing my mom her new shoes.

I miss her in the big things. I miss her when I am hurt, and I just want to talk to my mom about it, the woman who kissed my boo-boos and touched my heart with her sweet, calming, reassuring voice. I miss talking over the big decisions in my life, even, or maybe especially, the hard ones. I miss her hugs and the sweet, clean smell that enveloped me when I hugged her back.

It isn't simply enough to say I miss her. It isn't. Those words don't describe the dull ache that creeps on me like it has the last week, leaving me feeling so sad. But at the same time, I miss her.

I hate that there are days when I struggle to find these good memories, because I am remembering her illness more than I am remembering her. I hate remembering her lying in that bed, semi-conscious and unable to speak. I hate that she had so much pain. I really wish I could move past thinking about that instead of all the millions of good memories. I know it's a lot for my brain to take in, so I need to process it bits at a time, but it's like a knife just slicing the same wound open again. I still struggle with the question why. I still ask God how I am supposed to go forward without my mom. It isn't that I don't have family whom I love and adore and friends. It isn't that my husband isn't my rock, the logical strong one who I turn to when I need advice or a big strong hug. There's just something about being a girl/woman and having a mom that you're close to - there isn't another type of bond like that, in my opinion. Just like a husband/wife or sisters or sister/brother or best friends or any other combination of people share a unique bond, the same is true of mother/daughter.

It is hard - SO HARD - sometimes to not let my emotions control me. There are moments when I want to curl up in a depressed fetal ball and not get up, when I just want to wallow in it. Thank and praise the Lord that He pulls me out of it, because I know I probably wouldn't be able to sometimes. But right when I'm probably about to collapse (because I have a tendency to shut things in for way too long), He comes along and gives me something I didn't even know I needed before He shows me. Like tonight, when I sat down and read Zooey her devotional at bed, and it said:

"The children are looking at the rainbow and the pretty clouds. They are thinking about heaven. Someday we will have new bodies that are even more amazing than the bodies we have now. When we go to heaven to live with Jesus, our bodies will be just like his. We won't get sick or hurt. And we'll never have to cry. We will have the best bodies ever! 'He will change our simple bodies and make them like his own glorious body. Christ can do this by his power.' (Philippians 3:21, ICB). Jesus, when I live with you, my body will be all brand-new." (The One Year Devotions for Preschoolers, Crystal Bowman, 2004. pg. March 17).

That about sums it up, right? My mom is in her new "best body," and she is not in pain. And someday, I'll see her again and not have to cry anymore.

Mom, around 1980