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:
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
10/26/15
8/21/15
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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
8/13/15
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
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
4/3/15
Unique Gifts For Mothers Day
Mothers Day is coming up! What better way to celebrate the lovely women in your life than giving them a gift that is unique and holds sentimental value?
1/1/14
9/23/13
Daily Click - Work Space
I spend a large chunk of my day at this desk. Editing photos and videos, posting artwork, taking care of It Works! business, updating my website, paying bills etc.
Above is my goal/dream board.
Desk is antique. Of course...(I never buy new furniture if I can help it).
Macbook is 6 years old and still kickin' it. His name is Gizmo.
It's definitely time for an iMac though. So if you want to send one to me, go right ahead.
I've been blogging for years, and now I am able to make money doing it! Click here.
9/20/13
9/19/13
Supermom I am NOT
This article appeared on my Facebook feed at just the right time. In fact, it's something I should read at least once a week to remind myself that I need to STOP being so hard on myself. (Am I allowed to use "myself" in the same sentence twice?).
Even though I wrote this post awhile back, I am still guilty of framing things just so in order to appear that I have all my crap together, when in fact I do not. My house almost is always messy. My kids fingernails get clipped only when I realize they are 7 inches long and have dirt and who knows what else caked underneath. My daughter dresses herself like Punky Brewster daily and I encourage it. Who doesn't love one Hello Kitty sock, one robot sock, a batgirl cape, and a dinosaur mask all at once?
Anywhoodles, my life is chaos. It's a daily battle to accept that and love it. I'm working on a free printable just for you guys, to remind you that it's the memories that matter most. Stay tuned!
Even though I wrote this post awhile back, I am still guilty of framing things just so in order to appear that I have all my crap together, when in fact I do not. My house almost is always messy. My kids fingernails get clipped only when I realize they are 7 inches long and have dirt and who knows what else caked underneath. My daughter dresses herself like Punky Brewster daily and I encourage it. Who doesn't love one Hello Kitty sock, one robot sock, a batgirl cape, and a dinosaur mask all at once?
Anywhoodles, my life is chaos. It's a daily battle to accept that and love it. I'm working on a free printable just for you guys, to remind you that it's the memories that matter most. Stay tuned!
9/1/13
8/20/13
11/17/11
an amazing woman
About 4-5 years ago I documented one of my moms many bouts with cancer. She is amazing!
I would love to do this for other cancer patients. Does that sounds weird? I just would love to do it. I dunno. Maybe do their makeup, take some awesome pictures, do some silly shots.....just something to lift their spirits.
I would love to do this for other cancer patients. Does that sounds weird? I just would love to do it. I dunno. Maybe do their makeup, take some awesome pictures, do some silly shots.....just something to lift their spirits.
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