Published on Elite Daily

I'm excited to share that I had two of my articles published today on Elite Daily. 

They both started out on here, so they are just slightly edited versions, but here they are:

Why Shaving My Head Allowed Me To Live Life On My Terms 

The Awkward, The Sad, And The Beautiful Moments Of My Mother's Funeral 

Funerals: The Ultimate Awkward Experience

"These are just awkward...." he said with a goofy half smile. My family and I were lined up to the left of my moms open casket, greeting friends and family as they paid their respects. I started laughing and replied,"I know! What do you say at this kind of thing?" Thank you, man-from-my-parents-church-I-don't-know-from-Adam. You had the guts to say what everybody else is thinking.

Funerals ARE awkward and sad and awful and beautiful and surreal. It felt like a dream and a nightmare all at once.

When we got to the church to set up before the viewing started, I walked in, saw my moms lifeless face, and lost it. I was with her when she died and saw her body taken away. I knew what my mom looked like dead. But seeing her in the coffin, her face done up and all plastic like...just hours before we would lay her body six feet under forever. It's really one of the worst feelings ever. Before I could stop them, the tears started flowing (A regular occurrence these days. Checking out at the store, crying. Dropping my kids off at school, crying. Flipping burgers at McDonalds, crying. Just kidding on that last one. As if.)

 After my sweet husband held me while the tears-a-flowed, I dried my face, touched up my lipstick ("Faded" by Lime Crime, if you must know) and took my place in line. Family I hadn't seen in years came from out of state. It was like the family reunion we had been trying to plan for years with no success. Leave it to mom to get us all together. 

As I greeted all of these amazing, beautiful people, we said the same awkward phrases over and over. Most definitely heartfelt, but awkward all the same: 

"I'm so sorry for your loss." 

"She's in a better place."

"She's no longer in pain." Etc.

What can you say to someone who just lost one of the most important and wonderful people in their life? Not much. And that's why I really appreciated this dudes comment.... "These things are just awkward."  Amen, brother.

The viewing was followed by a really incredible service. There was a lot of laughter and a lot of tears. I was on the program to speak. I tried to write something out but it just wasn't working, so I got up and winged it. I don't remember much about what I said, just that I talked about the greatest lesson I learned from my mom was unconditional love (which was basically the theme of everyone elses talk too) and told a funny story about one of my favorite things she used to do: She would ask if you wanted some food, and if you said,"Sure, just a little bit." Then she would literally bring over just a little bit. One cheerio with a drip of milk in a HUGE mixing bowl, giggling as she brought it over than cracking up when she saw your reaction. MOM I MISS YOU SO MUCH YOU WERE SO CUTE AND FUNNY AND I LOVE YOU.

Anyways.

I was surprised at the burial. Did you know you don't actually get to see the casket go into the ground? You have a dedication of the grave, cry a lot...then stand around and chat. Slowly everyone starts making their way back to the church for a hearty meal of funeral potatoes and brownies. But the casket just hangs out with some funeral dudes watching over it and then they bury it later. I didn't like that. It felt strange not to be part of finalizing it.

A few days passed and I went to see my moms grave yesterday. They had a temporary marker on the grave with her obituary until we get a headstone placed. They had the years wrong. August 9, 2015 - August 12, 2015. I guess my mom was only 3 days old. Don't worry. I marched back to my car, got a pen, and fixed it. Victory. At least I've done something good in my life, right?

I sat on top of the grave in the freshly turned dirt and cried. I hated that her body was underground, all alone. I don't know a world without my mom. We have psychically existed together since the second I was conceived. (Only four weeks after she gave birth to my sister, I might add. This just goes to show how much my parents liked each other.) And while I understand the concept "she's not her body" and I get that her spirit is soaring around and I've felt her with me, guess what? That doesn't bring a whole lot of comfort at times. Let's be honest about something: No matter how much you believe in an afterlife, it still SUCKS ASS (sorry mom) to lose their physical presence. Saying "it's just a body" is not true. That very body encompassed my moms soul so it was a HUGE part of my experience with her. She carried and gave birth to me (3 weeks late too. Sorry again mom. You know me, always keeping everybody on their toes!)  Those arms wrapped around me thousands of times. Those hands wiped tears away, rubbed my back when I was sick, made my kick ass Halloween costumes, prom dresses, the best peach cobbler in the world, and the most incredible tole paintings the world has ever seen! That face expressed every emotion: sadness when I went through heartbreak, concern when I was sick with stomach issues, anger when I was being a poophead (which was a lot) absolute love and adoration, annoyance, a smile that lit up a room! Those same curly toes we shared, hers from ballet mine from gymnastics (and also...genes and stuff). That infectious laughter followed by "ohhhhh shooot!" My moms body is not just a body. It's no longer up and walking around and hanging out at her house for me to go hug today. I can't go ever and sit at her counter and chat with her about things she really doesn't care about but pretends to be because she's sweet like that.

Her body was a beautiful vessel for her spirit to hang out in while she played her role on this earth, and she did an amazing job.  So while yes, I understand the concept that she is still here with us in spirit, I want her body back. GOSH DARNIT. (That was for you, mom. I know you hated the swears.)

At her grave, I had a whispered conversation with her, telling her how much I missed her, how much I loved her. A sudden warm breeze washed over me, swirled around the flowers on her grave, then was gone. Hi mom. Please keep showing up, please keep giving me wind hugs, please keep wrapping your soul around my heart, because I can feel it and it brings me so much comfort during this time. Please never stop being with me. Because as time passes without you, I don't want to ever get used to you not being around. As a dear friend said to me at the funeral, it's not one week farther from her death, but one week closer to seeing her again. But she said it all poetic like and stuff. Ah, perspective. It makes any situation that appears hopeless and awful to hopeful and bright.

As I walked away from my moms grave, I felt so sad leaving her alone, so deep down and in the blackness. It broke my heart. But this is where the "she's not her body" concept IS a comfort. Because as I walked away, I knew she was walking with me. And she will always walk with me.

And Then She Was Free

Dear mom,
You are gone. I wrote a few days ago about how I was ready to let you go, how much I wanted you to be out of misery. Being with you, holding your hand as you took your last breath, is something that was profoundly beautiful and absolutely devastating. Isn't it interesting, how we are able to feel so many opposing emotions at one time?

The last few days have been nothing short of the wildest roller coaster of feelings I've ever been on. Those times we gathered around your bed, thinking this was it, this was the end. Listening to your labored breath, watching the rise and fall of your chest, our hands on your thin frame, hot tears rolling down our cheeks. And then your breath would return to normal, and we would look at each other and smile and shake our heads at your will to live. Conversation would resume, we would joke, cry, eat. We would take turns laying next to you, stroking your hair and face. And we would wait.

I wondered what was going on in your mind. If your soul was floating in and out of your body, not quite sure if you could leave your family just yet, but the other side looking so inviting with loved ones waiting and permanent freedom from pain and sickness. Or maybe it was just darkness, our voices fading in and out of your conscious.

Many times I took your hand in mine or lay my hand on your heart, feeling the exhausted beat. I would try to tune into your soul, to tell you we loved you, it was okay to go, we would be alright. I felt you push back, "No, I'm not ready yet." I would kiss your soft cheek and whisper in your ear that it was me and tell you I loved you. I hope you heard. I hope you felt my heart expand out to reach yours. I think you did.

The last hour of your life you struggled to breathe through the fluid that was gathering in your lungs. That was so hard to hear and not be able to do anything about. Each exhale was a moan, almost like a plea to please let it end. We gathered around your bed, our hands piled on top of yours. Aunt Kim cradled your head and told you it was time, to please let go, we couldn't stand to see you in misery any longer, we would be okay. I believe you felt it through our skin, in our souls, that we loved you so much, that we wanted you to be at peace. Your breathing slowed, your body still taking in every bit of air it could. And with your last breath, I felt you leave. With your last breath, your physical body was a shell of my beautiful mother. Those arms would never again wrap around me in a warm embrace. Those eyes would never again twinkle or dance with laughter.

I had some time alone with you. It was odd, to kiss your forehead and hold you and tell you my final goodbye, unable to wrap my brain around the fact that you were no longer in there anymore. I wanted to reach out and grab your soul and stick it back in your body. It was the most helpless feeling I have ever experienced. I have never felt so vulnerable and small in this vast universe.

When I got home, Jarrod and I lay out on the trampoline. You picked the perfect night to go, mom. A meteor shower? You think of everything. I cried as I watched shooting stars cross the sky. Jarrod said,"She's dancing up there." And I believe you are.

My Mom is Dying and I'm Okay With It
Why I Shaved My Head
My photo series of my moms journey

My Mom is Dying and I'm Okay With It.

It doesn't make sense to me that the world is still spinning and the sun is still shining and people are out doing whatever they're doing. Right now I'm waiting for my mom to die. And it just really seems to me like everything and everybody needs to come to a halt, because it's not cool that birds are still chirping and stuff. The sky should be full of dark clouds and the birds should shut up and everythind should just STOP.  Do you guys have any idea what the world is losing? WHY ARE YOU STILL EATING THOSE CHIPS?! PUT THEM DOWN AND LISTEN.

Anyone that knows my mom, knows exactly what I'm talking about. Have you heard of the tallest man alive? The bearded lady? The woman with the biggest heart? Oh, that's my mom. (No, not the bearded lady.) Okay, that was lame but really. She literally shines, she is so pure and beautiful and loving. Everybody needs to be like her, because if everyone was like her all of the worlds problems would be solved. I'm not kidding. Everybody would be fed delicious meals from scratch, have beautiful hand sewn clothes, and a hug every hour on the hour.

At the age of 37 my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. And she's been fighting it as it's spread all over her body for the last 20 years. I have often wondered if my mom is the result of an affair my grandma had with Superman. Not only has she fought through countless cycles of cancer and treatments, but she's done it with no complaints and a smile on her face.

"Mom, how are you feeling today? I know that you just had a chemotherapy appointment, so basically they brought you to the brink of death and now you have sores in your mouth and you've lost all your hair and you're so tired all of the time and you feel like puking, but how are you?'

"Oh, I'm okay, just a little tired. How are you? What's going on in your life? I love you so much! What can I do for you?"

That's my mom. And in her just being her, she has been an inspiration to countless people. 

The crazy thing about your mom being given the "There's nothing more we can do for you" talk from her doctor after so many years, is that there is an undeniable sense of relief. "How heartless you are!" You say, shaking your fist in my direction. Well, sorry but it's true. We have watched my mom go through horrible pain and suffering over and over again. It comes to a point where you are so exhausted from watching someone you love go through that, and you just want them to be at PEACE, DAMMIT! (Now I'M shaking MY fist).

My mom even chatted with me about her funeral. She planned it all out and in the middle of talking stopped abruptly and said to me,"I'm sorry, I forget that I'm so at peace with all of this that maybe other people aren't." And when I told her that she shouldn't be worried about that, let us take care of it, she said,"Oh no, it's going to be hard enough for everyone, I don't want you to have to worry about planning my funeral." Are you kidding me? WHO DOES THAT. And honestly, I was fine talking to her about it. It was weird, yes, but I have felt very peaceful about her death. A couple weeks before she told me the final news, I had a sudden thought cross my mind out of nowhere. "Mom is going to die this year." I just knew it in my bones. 

 I don't want my mom to suffer anymore. Does it kill me that my 4 year old son won't remember his grandma? Does it kill me that I won't get to hug her tiny little body and watch her face light up the room as she laughs? Does it kill me that I won't get to watch her roll her eyes at my dad as he tells the same joke he's been telling for 30 years, but then watch as a smile sneaks across her lips because she absolutely adores him and he absolutely adores her? UGH. It's so hard to lose someone you love so much! It's so hard to think about the fact that I will NEVER SEE MY MOM AGAIN IN THIS LIFETIME. What is that about? Shitty is the only word I can think of, and it doesn't even begin to describe it. She just turned 57. That is so young! I want to be angry, but I can't find a place to be mad. I'm sad. I'm grateful that I was blessed with literally the most amazing mother in the entire universe. I'm grateful that I get to have so many amazing memories to pull up in my mind on my little tiny brain movie screen. What a miracle this life is. What a beautiful thing, to share it with so many diverse, complicated amazing people that teach us lessons and annoy us and make us love them so much that we want to squeeze the poop out of them and we get to share our LIVES with each other! No matter how short your time is with someone, that person is in your life because they are meant to be. Learn what you can from them, love them no matter their flaws, build them up, hug them, argue with them, and laugh with them. Because as cliche as it sounds, at the end of the day, the only thing we're going to care about on OUR death bed, is the people we shared our lives with and how we loved them.


To see my photo series on my moms cancer, go here.
To read why I shaved my head, go here.