My girls are at volleyball clinic right now and I get to watch them today. Watching them learn the skills in this game and doing it together is so cool. There's a Subaru commercial where the dad is talking to his little girl probly three or four years old in the drivers seat of his car about how to drive. Then he tosses her the keys and all of a sudden she is 16 as she backs out of the driveway and takes off. That's how I feel all the time almost. In whatever they do, when I look at them. I see them as a 5 and 3-year-old. Their personalities in many ways have not changed a bit. So when I see Emma trying to learn to serve the volleyball and asking the coach for advice or when I see the coach teaching a skill and see Karly gawking off at another court, I see my little girls and smile to myself. I love it. This is so cool watching them grow and learn. I can't imagine living life without this feeling. I'm thinking though that I will always see them as my little girls, just like the car commercial.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Right Where I Am: Three years, one month, one week
Angie started this project last year. I'm participating this year....Thank you Angie. BTW, hope you do a VLOG again--I wouldn't miss it this time, I promise!
I miss my little man. Constantly. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him. Sometimes I feel like I miss him more each day. Sometimes I feel like it gets "easier". The reminders, the triggers, are all the time. E.V.E.R.Y.D.A.Y. I was at the park the other day with one of the kids' classes and was on the toddler playground with Owen. Following him around everywhere, practically, because he's that kid. He'd take a step off the top of the ladder just to see what happens, I'm afraid. Or maybe I'm just afraid. Anyway, a mom was helping her little boy up the slide and we exchanged ages of the boys and small comments about their outgoing personalities. She said something along the lines of, "he's the youngest of three boys so he is going to have all kinds of bumps and bruises keeping up with and learning from his older brothers." My brain stopped for a second. I had never thought of it that way. Owen is the youngest of three boys, too. I smiled to myself and agreed with the mom. And a tinge of sadness settled in my heart. The things Owen could be learning from Chase right now....
My uncle is/was deathly ill. He's a heart transplant patient from over a decade ago, has recently had a kidney transplant (because that's what you get to look forward to when you get a new heart eventually) and unfortunately got a really bad infection in his system a week ago. He was on the verge of death. I was sad because I know my uncle pretty well. I mean I grew up with him, even though I haven't spent much time with him in the last 15 years. His health declined and my mom was talking about the issues they are dealing with. Talking about what happens if he doesn't make it through his next surgery or the next one. I was sad for him, until one day I found myself going through pictures of Chase I came across. And the tears poured. My thought was that he would get to see Chase soon. That thought was comforting, but made me miss my boy even more.
So these are a couple instances as of late, but they happen all the time. I am a happy mom. I love my kids more than anything and can't wait until they get home from school. I am so excited for summer. But the cloud is always there. No matter how sunny it is outside. It's just how I live. I heard someone say, "it was my worst mother's day ever." And, though I was sorry for them, I thought of my worst mother's day ever--less than a month after Chase died. I wish it wasn't like that.
I look at other 3-year-olds and try to see my boy. I look at Owen, and see Chase just 20 months older than him and I imagine what he would look like, act like, sound like. I miss him. As much as I ever did. But I am happy. A happiness that took me a while to find again. I can talk about him to strangers without crying. I try to include him whenever anyone asks how many children I have, but not always. And I never look at anyone without knowing that they have a story behind their shell, as well. No matter how happy, how sad, how mean or how nice they are. This I can thank Chase for.
I see my grief as a plateau kind of. I have moments here and there of greater sadness and of course the holidays are bigger peaks. But I am thankful that my kids and my husband and my whole family talk about him so much that his name isn't unspoken. He's a part of our family. Just as my grief is a part of my life. It will never go away completely.
Linking up with Angie at Still life with Circles. Thank you friend!
I miss my little man. Constantly. Not a day goes by when I don't think of him. Sometimes I feel like I miss him more each day. Sometimes I feel like it gets "easier". The reminders, the triggers, are all the time. E.V.E.R.Y.D.A.Y. I was at the park the other day with one of the kids' classes and was on the toddler playground with Owen. Following him around everywhere, practically, because he's that kid. He'd take a step off the top of the ladder just to see what happens, I'm afraid. Or maybe I'm just afraid. Anyway, a mom was helping her little boy up the slide and we exchanged ages of the boys and small comments about their outgoing personalities. She said something along the lines of, "he's the youngest of three boys so he is going to have all kinds of bumps and bruises keeping up with and learning from his older brothers." My brain stopped for a second. I had never thought of it that way. Owen is the youngest of three boys, too. I smiled to myself and agreed with the mom. And a tinge of sadness settled in my heart. The things Owen could be learning from Chase right now....
My uncle is/was deathly ill. He's a heart transplant patient from over a decade ago, has recently had a kidney transplant (because that's what you get to look forward to when you get a new heart eventually) and unfortunately got a really bad infection in his system a week ago. He was on the verge of death. I was sad because I know my uncle pretty well. I mean I grew up with him, even though I haven't spent much time with him in the last 15 years. His health declined and my mom was talking about the issues they are dealing with. Talking about what happens if he doesn't make it through his next surgery or the next one. I was sad for him, until one day I found myself going through pictures of Chase I came across. And the tears poured. My thought was that he would get to see Chase soon. That thought was comforting, but made me miss my boy even more.
So these are a couple instances as of late, but they happen all the time. I am a happy mom. I love my kids more than anything and can't wait until they get home from school. I am so excited for summer. But the cloud is always there. No matter how sunny it is outside. It's just how I live. I heard someone say, "it was my worst mother's day ever." And, though I was sorry for them, I thought of my worst mother's day ever--less than a month after Chase died. I wish it wasn't like that.
I look at other 3-year-olds and try to see my boy. I look at Owen, and see Chase just 20 months older than him and I imagine what he would look like, act like, sound like. I miss him. As much as I ever did. But I am happy. A happiness that took me a while to find again. I can talk about him to strangers without crying. I try to include him whenever anyone asks how many children I have, but not always. And I never look at anyone without knowing that they have a story behind their shell, as well. No matter how happy, how sad, how mean or how nice they are. This I can thank Chase for.
I see my grief as a plateau kind of. I have moments here and there of greater sadness and of course the holidays are bigger peaks. But I am thankful that my kids and my husband and my whole family talk about him so much that his name isn't unspoken. He's a part of our family. Just as my grief is a part of my life. It will never go away completely.
Linking up with Angie at Still life with Circles. Thank you friend!
Friday, May 4, 2012
Five Minute Friday: Real
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