red shoes

Two years ago today I flew to Tampa to be with my Mom in her final days. Tomorrow is my birthday. On my 39th birthday we moved her to hospice. It was, without a doubt, the hardest day of my life. Harder than the day she died.  * It was a day where I wore the crown and we went through the motions and we checked things off the list. Move Mom, check. Arrange flowers and photos the room, check. Feed Dad, check. Figure out who the hell is in charge around here and where they are, check.  I haven't shared the pain of that day, the trauma of that day. Probably because to this day I still haven't processed it all. I haven't really talked about it actually, processing it must be further down the road. Women do these things, we are able to separate the mental and the emotional in times of great need or stress or pain. I was all business on my 39th birthday. It seems pretty cut and dry, Mom goes via ambulance to hospice from point A to point B. But the gravity of that, the pain that a...

 It was Mother's Day 2015 when I got out of the shower and my water broke. We headed to brunch, as one does. My Mom told everyone in the buffet line that I was in labor while I sipped a mimosa (third kid) and enjoyed a waffle or seven (You know they don't let you eat while you're in labor, right? It could have been days before I ate again!). We left the 'big kids', as they are known, with my parents and headed to the hospital. A quick 13 hours later, Finley Scott Best entered this world with her arms up screaming 'Hello World! I am here now and you're never going to be the same!'. And she was right.  That baby girl is six today and I've done some reflecting. I know what they say about third kids. And a lot of that rings true for her. She has to fight to get a word in, she can be feisty. She has been dragged from field to court to class to school to store for her entire life. And never once does she have a choice in the matter. She gets to control ver...

I’m big into chapters. Closing one, opening another. Not being able to skip any, as much as I may have liked to over the last few years. I think our lives can be broken up into chapters. Some are longer than others. There are some run on sentences that may carry between them and common themes throughout an entire book but, we all have chapters. They aren’t linear, some run over the tops of others and some never end.   We sold our South Florida house which is the beginning the closing of a chapter of our story. This has been one of my most difficult chapters, personally. Any time I have talked about wanting to leave over the last five years it’s difficult for other people to understand. We live in this gorgeous home in paradise. We have a pool and a yard and swing set, great neighbors and a few months out of the year when everyone else is freezing we are still in flip flops. So I get it. I understand why us leaving is weird or hard to understand. Dan’s job is still here, our kids...

I feel a weight on my chest today. More than usual. The deep breathing I’ve learned in therapy relieves it but, only momentarily. It is the weight of loss and some days it’s heavier than others.  It has been six months since I first knew this weight. Six months ago today she left us here to figure it out while she’s galavanting in the beyond sharing her magic with the next world. Six months ago today it felt like the world stopped spinning. And part of our world did stop. The moments with her were gone. From that point forward, we would make no more memories with her. What we have is what we've got. I find myself trying to go back, way back. Back before cancer took the wheel. I find myself searching for that version of Mom. The one who had more energy than most her age, whose curiosity about things was endless. The one who relished in adventure and delighted in an ice cream cone. I find her more and more. I hope that means the memories of cancer are being ...

There are 5 kids at my house right now. Only two are mine. Emerson has friends who are triplets and I'm over here striving for some normal for my kids so we are in the 'taking calculated risks' category of quarantine life. I made lunch, got sunscreen on them and sent them out to play. And it hit me. My Mom is dead.  I lived it. Got the call from Dad, 'This is it, you need to come today'. Flew in. Moved her from hospital to hospice. I sat by her hospice bed for 5 days. I talked to her while she slept. I saw her after her spirit left her physical self. I know  my Mom is dead. But, like, do you think she's ever coming back? I mean how is it even possible that she's just gone? It doesn't even make sense. She has been here my whole life and now I'm supposed to do life without her? Hello, Denial. Nice to meet you. I haven't read a lot about Grief or the stages of it but I know Denial is one of them. I'm not sure how much reading about it will help ...

I asked Grief to go out with me again. This time we went on a walk. We walked back through the hardest and worst day of my life. Birthdays were always a big deal when I was growing up. Bounce houses and ponies. Pictures up and down the stairs and streamers. Surprise visits from my Godparents. A HUGE cake in the numbers 1 and 6 delivered to school. In my adult years I sent flowers to my Mom on my birthday. After all, she's the one who did the work (hope my kids take notes when they read this some day). We celebrate big. I don't know any different. I turned 39 on February 26th. On February 26th we moved my Mom into hospice. The place where she would leave this world. I didn't find hospice to be this amazing place everyone speaks of where peace finds you and you leave with angel wings. Hospice looks like a nursing home. It looks like stale coffee and cookies and Shasta soda. Couches are like dorm furniture, uncomfortable and likely in need of a cleaning. No one turns light...