Christmas 2023 - The First Christmas Without Her

     Today is the first Christmas without her.  No matter how much you wish this day wouldn't come, it does.  Just like the anniversary of her death.  It is creeping up so fast.  I still think of my mom every day, multiple times.  I still talk about her just as much as I would have if she were here.  I want to make sure that no matter what, she is still just as much as a household name as she always has been.  Landon, my youngest, was especially close to my mom.  That started back when she found out I was pregnant.  I will never forget.  She was the first person I called to tell the news.  I was crying.  I hate to admit it. I was just accepted into the nursing program.  I can't remember the exact numbers of the acceptance rate into the program at the time, however I was on the Dean's List every single semester, and I had only made the LPN program, though I had applied to both LPN & RN.  I knew Chad and I had wanted more children.  But right then?  It was less than ideal.  (As always, God shows that His timing is best, and that His plans for Landon and our family would be more than we could imagine.)  So, as I was entering the nursing program in the fall, I found out that I was pregnant just a couple months earlier that May.  I remember laying on my bed on the phone with my mom, crying my eyes out and saying to her, "What am I going to do!?!"  Not surprisingly, her response was, "Well, you are going to have a baby!"  And, that is what I did.  Little did we know how much that little boy would save my mom, and eventually me.  My mom was fighting stage IV breast cancer.  Her chemo schedule was grueling.  She told me that she would talk about the baby all the time to the oncology nurses, volunteers, doctors, other patients, basically anyone that would listen.  When I would occasionally go with her to her infusion appointments, her nurses would come up to me and exclaim, "Ohhh!  We have heard so much about you and your baby!  Your mom is so proud!"  And she really was.  My mom told me a few weeks later, that this baby gave her something to fight for.  Something to live for.  And she did just that.  She fought hard, and she won her battle.  She did end up celebrating ten years of remission. 

     The reason I bring up Landon, is because a couple days ago Landon said something that stuck with me.  He said that he was finally not as sad anymore about losing his Grandma.  He continued, "I love her but it is getting easier.  I just know now that she is no longer in pain and she is with God.  I can't be sad for her when she is all better now and I am happy that she isn't sick anymore."  Those words weren't verbatim, but close.  The point being, his Grandma was healed.  So why should he be sad?  I paused and my eyes got weepy.  I said, "Landon, you really are growing up.  I am so proud of you".  He just smiled.  As much as I loved to hear him say that, and as happy as I was that his heart was not hurting anymore, I was crushed.  Sometimes, I feel like the pain is a reminder that things are real.  If we don't feel pain, then it might seem that we are giving up on that person or forgetting their memory.  Of course healing is part of the process, and is to be expected with a healthy grieving process.  But, I was also slightly jealous.  I wanted to feel that way too.  Sometimes waking up each morning to the same reality that my mom is not here, is absolutely gut wrenching.  Sometimes it is easier.  But, regardless, the pain is still there. 

     The picture posted to this blog was taken in downtown Kendallville, on January 5th, 2023.  I had just gotten done watching Natalie compete with the ENHS gymnastics team at West Noble, and I was driving back to the high school.  I was waiting for the bus to get back, and all I could think about was my mom.  It was cold and icy.  I decided to drive around town to go past my childhood home on Park Avenue as I waited for the girls to get back to the school.  Our town had these beautiful lights strung down Main Street for the first time in years.  I had pictures on my phone from a week or two before of the lights that I wanted to show my mom because she told me that she wanted to see them after I had talked them up so much.  I never did get to show them to her.  And now, she was laying in her patient bed, in her living room, waiting to pass on. 

     We knew it was getting close, but didn't know just how close it would be.  The song Drive, by The Cars, came on the radio as I had just went under those beautiful lights and had turned on Mitchell street to head to my old home.  I was hit with the most intense wave of grief.  I didn't just cry.  I wailed.  My tears were falling more than I can explain.  I hadn't cried that hard since the day that she told me her cancer was back.  It was just one of those cries that are so cathartic.  Almost like I cried out a part of my soul.  I pulled over to the side of the road and looked at my old home.  112 N. Park Avenue.  All the memories flooded back.  The song Drive played at that time for a very specific reason.  My mom always told me that that song reminded her of me.  She said when I was a little girl, I would sing it and I loved it so much.  Now to hear the song it guts me.  It takes me back to that moment in time.  The intense sadness to know that my mom was dying and I couldn't do anything about it, and the lyrics had never stuck out, like they do now.

My mom passed away the next day at 2:58 p.m.

"Drive"

Who's gonna tell you when
It's too late?
Who's gonna tell you things
Aren't so great?

You can't go on thinking
Nothing's wrong, oh oh
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?

Who's gonna pick you up
When you fall?
Who's gonna hang it up
When you call?
Who's gonna pay attention
To your dreams?
Yeah, who's gonna plug their ears
When you scream?

You can't go on thinking
Nothing's wrong, oh oh
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?

Who's gonna hold you down
When you shake?
Who's gonna come around
When you break?

You can't go on thinking
Nothing's wrong, oh oh
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?

You know you can't go on thinking
Nothing's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home
Tonight?