Today is like no other day.
My thoughts eventually turn down a path that is paved with small and big
moments about you, Mom. I’m not quite
sure where you end, and I start. It’s a
race with no other runners, and I don’t ever win.
I keep our stories to myself, and my inner-voice is laced
with your messages. I hear your words
when Bennet is making another righteous argument, and I keep your messages in
my already-packed head. Every time I see
Ruby sleeping, I say quietly to myself, “Love, you look so much like her.” This is what I have done for so long. My energy has been given to the lack of your existence
in the girls’ lives. Ironic how draining
it is to give much energy to something that is not present on earth. Let’s
be honest—it’s not even about the children.
It’s about me, your eldest daughter, and I know it.
Something has changed in the last few months. I have been seeing Julie each week, and she
has given me something that I have unknowingly needed this past decade. She gave me permission to let you be alive in
our lives. I have been selfish, and I
have kept you all to myself. I am good
at talking, and yet, I rarely speak your name in their presence. You were nameless to them up until now. Mom, they call you Ya-Ya. It is perfect, and each time their sweet
voices say it, my breath stops. This has
brought me much joy. It also makes my
heart ache, but it’s different. There is
hope in this. There is peace in knowing
that you are now alive to them. It is
starting to change, and I am finally beginning to heal. It's time.
You’re here. We were eating dinner not so long ago. “Mama?” said Ruby, “Ya-ya loves the clapping
song. Remember the song? Miss Alyssa showed us in school.” She then put her small hands together to clap
and scrunched up her round face to recall the tune. (You always clapped when you sang to Kim, Dan and I.) Then, she jumped off of the window seat, ran
over to our family photos, pointed to your picture, and
said so matter-of-factly, “There she is!
There is Ya-Ya! See, Mama? See?”
You’re here. While sitting on the couch one evening, Bennet
indignantly said, “Hey! I am making
Ya-Ya a picture. How do I get it to
her?!” This moment reached into the
darkest parts of me and shined the slightest sliver of light. She came up with a solution, and I have no
words for it.
This morning on the way to school, she asked if you received
your picture. I took it upon myself to
let her absolutely know that her artwork for you arrived timely and was
well-received.
You’re here. I told Bennet our favorite story. I told her about how great-grandma left her
husband when grandma was just a little girl.
I told her about how they lived in a mud home in the forest. Were
they lonely, Mama? Then, I told her
about how thieves would try to dig tunnels into the mud house. She was very upset about this. The robbers
are the s-word! They are stupid and
mean. I then told her the brilliant
plan. “Bennet, there was a plan. Great-grandma had lots of different men’s
shoes in the house. So, when they heard
digging, she would put a different shoe on each foot. She would tell grandma to do the same. Then, they stomped around the house. And, you know what? The robbers would hear the shoes and think
that big men lived in the house. So,
they would go away! They left?! Great-grandma used
her brain! Here is the picture she
drew after I told the story. Mom, do you
see me in the picture? She drew me as an
angel. Mama, that’s you. You were not
born yet. So, you’re still in heaven,
okay?
Then, she went to my bedroom, found two of Jeremy's shoes, put them on, stomped around her room and quietly muttered about silly robbers.
Mom, you’re finally here. I've missed you.
Mom, you’re finally here. I've missed you.
