I can't sleep, guys.
Valentine's Day is coming up soon.
And tonight, the tears started, and they just wouldn't stop.
2008 was truly an unbearable year.
A lot of you know my story and the connection here, but many of you don't.
I don't think that I've shared about the whole year, all together.
I've been told by a few very supportive friends that my story could basically be a Nicholas Sparks movie; I think the ending is still being written.
So, I'll do my best to get it all in writing, in one place.
To start off, you'll need a little background information.
It's mid-2007, and I am about to head off for my senior year of college, and my boyfriend (now husband) was about to embark on his first tour of duty overseas as a Military Police Reservist. My mom was 1 year into her cancer diagnosis, and was experiencing back pain, which she attributed to working in the yard so much that summer.
After the New Year, Chris was about halfway through his time Iraq. My mom was hospitalized and the cancer had spread to her spine. She was going to need surgery to ease her pain. I was beginning my final semester of college.
Chris was able to come home for 2 weeks, and in that time, unbeknownst to me, he went to the hospital to ask my parents for permission to marry me. He proposed at a restaurant on the Plaza in Kansas City. A table of ladies nearby was gasping and clapping for us! I was completely shocked, although his nervous behavior during dinner led me to believe that he was up to something! Afterward we drove to the hospital to visit my mom and dad to share the news! I remember her asking me if my ring was snagging on anything. I told her that I wasn't sure yet; I hadn't had it on for very long yet! She was on a morphine drip and she wasn't always very lucid.
Those 2 weeks flew by faster than I could have imagined, but I felt like we could get through the final stretch of Chris's deployment.
One day, I came back to my apartment from class and my dad and my pastor were sitting in my living room. This feeling of dread washed over me. I walked like my feet were made of brick. I sat down on the couch with them, and my dad told me that it was time for me to come home to my momma. I don't think I really processed what that meant until my roommate came home and sat down next to me. She held me, and I cried.
I had to email all of my professors and tell them that my mom was dying and that I would be absent from class for an unknown amount of time. They were all very accommodating and supportive.
My mom was in hospice care, and we would visit her daily. She was on a lot of medication, but on occasion you could talk with her. I don't remember any conversations that I had with her during this time, if we had any at all. Her breathing was raspy, she coughed a lot, and she began spending more time with her eyes closed. The nurses told us that hearing is usually the last to go, so even though she wasn't appearing to be awake, that she could still hear us. They encouraged us to talk with her. The last thing I whispered in her ear was "I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow".
The next morning, my mom took her final breath around 3 am. It was Valentine's Day. The cancer had spread back to her lungs in such a capacity that nothing more could be done. Chris was unable to come home for her funeral as he was not legally my family member yet. I remember how upset he felt about that.
About a month later, I got a phone call from an unknown number, I knew to answer any number that I didn't recognize, as the number that would pop up on my caller ID was always different when Chris would call. It was in fact Chris, and he told me to sit down.
I knew this wasn't good.
For the next 45 minutes, he had to explain to me that he was involved in an IED explosion. He was driving in a convoy and his vehicle passed over an IED. His vehicle caught fire, and the Marine sitting behind him was killed from his injuries. There are many more details, but I don't even know that I would tell it right and it's not my experience to tell.
Chris was evaluated and he sustained a moderate concussion and some temporary hearing loss. It felt miraculous that he was alive. It was almost as if he had a guardian angel that day.
I wasn't sure how to process this information. But I managed to finish out my schooling, and I graduated from the University of Kansas just 2 months later.
A week after graduation, I had a tonsillectomy. Wow, was that fun...recovery for adults is a lot harder than it is for kids. It was tough, and just days after my surgery, Chris was finally back on US soil, for good this time. I couldn't talk for a day or two, so we texted until he was back home and I could speak much better then.
At first, we weren't really sure how to support each other. We had a wedding to plan, but so much loss, trauma, and pain had happened while we were apart, that we had a lot to process through.
About 2 weeks after my surgery, I started my preschool teaching career. Ironically, my mom had pushed me to apply for this job at the very beginning of that school year. We got a flyer in the mail about a new preschool opening just up the street, and she hounded me to apply until I finally did. She didn't live to see me start my first day at The Goddard School, but it was like she knew that was where I was supposed to be.
The remainder of 2008 was mostly a blur. I spent most of my time feeling emotionally numb, or just sad or empty. I wasn't sure when the feeling of happiness would return.
But it eventually did. I focused on my classroom, helping Chris get rolling with college again, and planning our wedding set for the following summer.
It took a long while before I could even say the phrase "my mom died" out loud without choking up into a blubbery mess. But what I learned over time, was that the more I shared about it, the easier it became to talk about it. Sometimes I would accidentally unload on a stranger, but mostly it was those whom I knew. I did a lot of grieving in private - I still do, actually - and I think that is just my "way".
Writing, obviously, is a tremendous release for me, as well as sharing what I have written with others. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this far.
Don't be afraid to talk about those whom we have lost. We want to know that you still think of them, too. I think a lot of my friends are afraid to make me sad, and they don't want to make me cry and they feel bad if they do. But it is therapeutic to stop and think and remember sometimes. I still sometimes will get a trigger of a memory of my mom that was deeply buried, a phrase that she said or an event that I had completely forgotten about.
11 years is a long time. But sometimes it feels just like yesterday that she was telling me she needed more cowbell in that hospital room. Or that she was wearing a summer dress and a big sunhat while gardening. I remember watching her read the morning newspaper and eating her oatmeal slowly, lost in her own little world. I always wondered what she was thinking about in her quiet moments.
But I think that I am learning a little bit about those quiet moments now that I am a momma, too.
Valentine's Day is coming up soon.
And tonight, the tears started, and they just wouldn't stop.
2008 was truly an unbearable year.
A lot of you know my story and the connection here, but many of you don't.
I don't think that I've shared about the whole year, all together.
I've been told by a few very supportive friends that my story could basically be a Nicholas Sparks movie; I think the ending is still being written.
So, I'll do my best to get it all in writing, in one place.
To start off, you'll need a little background information.
It's mid-2007, and I am about to head off for my senior year of college, and my boyfriend (now husband) was about to embark on his first tour of duty overseas as a Military Police Reservist. My mom was 1 year into her cancer diagnosis, and was experiencing back pain, which she attributed to working in the yard so much that summer.
After the New Year, Chris was about halfway through his time Iraq. My mom was hospitalized and the cancer had spread to her spine. She was going to need surgery to ease her pain. I was beginning my final semester of college.
Chris was able to come home for 2 weeks, and in that time, unbeknownst to me, he went to the hospital to ask my parents for permission to marry me. He proposed at a restaurant on the Plaza in Kansas City. A table of ladies nearby was gasping and clapping for us! I was completely shocked, although his nervous behavior during dinner led me to believe that he was up to something! Afterward we drove to the hospital to visit my mom and dad to share the news! I remember her asking me if my ring was snagging on anything. I told her that I wasn't sure yet; I hadn't had it on for very long yet! She was on a morphine drip and she wasn't always very lucid.
Those 2 weeks flew by faster than I could have imagined, but I felt like we could get through the final stretch of Chris's deployment.
One day, I came back to my apartment from class and my dad and my pastor were sitting in my living room. This feeling of dread washed over me. I walked like my feet were made of brick. I sat down on the couch with them, and my dad told me that it was time for me to come home to my momma. I don't think I really processed what that meant until my roommate came home and sat down next to me. She held me, and I cried.
I had to email all of my professors and tell them that my mom was dying and that I would be absent from class for an unknown amount of time. They were all very accommodating and supportive.
My mom was in hospice care, and we would visit her daily. She was on a lot of medication, but on occasion you could talk with her. I don't remember any conversations that I had with her during this time, if we had any at all. Her breathing was raspy, she coughed a lot, and she began spending more time with her eyes closed. The nurses told us that hearing is usually the last to go, so even though she wasn't appearing to be awake, that she could still hear us. They encouraged us to talk with her. The last thing I whispered in her ear was "I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow".
The next morning, my mom took her final breath around 3 am. It was Valentine's Day. The cancer had spread back to her lungs in such a capacity that nothing more could be done. Chris was unable to come home for her funeral as he was not legally my family member yet. I remember how upset he felt about that.
About a month later, I got a phone call from an unknown number, I knew to answer any number that I didn't recognize, as the number that would pop up on my caller ID was always different when Chris would call. It was in fact Chris, and he told me to sit down.
I knew this wasn't good.
For the next 45 minutes, he had to explain to me that he was involved in an IED explosion. He was driving in a convoy and his vehicle passed over an IED. His vehicle caught fire, and the Marine sitting behind him was killed from his injuries. There are many more details, but I don't even know that I would tell it right and it's not my experience to tell.
Chris was evaluated and he sustained a moderate concussion and some temporary hearing loss. It felt miraculous that he was alive. It was almost as if he had a guardian angel that day.
I wasn't sure how to process this information. But I managed to finish out my schooling, and I graduated from the University of Kansas just 2 months later.
A week after graduation, I had a tonsillectomy. Wow, was that fun...recovery for adults is a lot harder than it is for kids. It was tough, and just days after my surgery, Chris was finally back on US soil, for good this time. I couldn't talk for a day or two, so we texted until he was back home and I could speak much better then.
At first, we weren't really sure how to support each other. We had a wedding to plan, but so much loss, trauma, and pain had happened while we were apart, that we had a lot to process through.
About 2 weeks after my surgery, I started my preschool teaching career. Ironically, my mom had pushed me to apply for this job at the very beginning of that school year. We got a flyer in the mail about a new preschool opening just up the street, and she hounded me to apply until I finally did. She didn't live to see me start my first day at The Goddard School, but it was like she knew that was where I was supposed to be.
The remainder of 2008 was mostly a blur. I spent most of my time feeling emotionally numb, or just sad or empty. I wasn't sure when the feeling of happiness would return.
But it eventually did. I focused on my classroom, helping Chris get rolling with college again, and planning our wedding set for the following summer.
It took a long while before I could even say the phrase "my mom died" out loud without choking up into a blubbery mess. But what I learned over time, was that the more I shared about it, the easier it became to talk about it. Sometimes I would accidentally unload on a stranger, but mostly it was those whom I knew. I did a lot of grieving in private - I still do, actually - and I think that is just my "way".
Writing, obviously, is a tremendous release for me, as well as sharing what I have written with others. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading this far.
Don't be afraid to talk about those whom we have lost. We want to know that you still think of them, too. I think a lot of my friends are afraid to make me sad, and they don't want to make me cry and they feel bad if they do. But it is therapeutic to stop and think and remember sometimes. I still sometimes will get a trigger of a memory of my mom that was deeply buried, a phrase that she said or an event that I had completely forgotten about.
11 years is a long time. But sometimes it feels just like yesterday that she was telling me she needed more cowbell in that hospital room. Or that she was wearing a summer dress and a big sunhat while gardening. I remember watching her read the morning newspaper and eating her oatmeal slowly, lost in her own little world. I always wondered what she was thinking about in her quiet moments.
But I think that I am learning a little bit about those quiet moments now that I am a momma, too.
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