red shoes

It took 13 days. Everyone knows that the best place for red blooded women to cry is in the shower. It took 13 days for me to get in the shower and sob. Guttural sobbing. Sobbing out the ache, the empty, the sad.  I kept wondering when it would hit me. Grief counselors say at this point people are generally still in shock. I've had moments where I tear up but I'm busy doing the comforting and the caring for all the people, I'm busy wearing the crown (more on that in a later post). I started to think maybe I better prepared myself than I thought. After all, I have been grieving the loss of my Mom for a few years now. The cancer really stole my Mom's essence and passion and joy and energy and fabulousness before it took her life, way before March 1, 2020. And I am my Mother's daughter, and she was (that's the first time I've used past tense and referred to her) stronger than most. I wondered if maybe because I sat by her hospice bed and cried out all th...

Kim Crawford is a man. Let that sink in.  And he sold his label for a bazillion dollars and retired. Then his wife got tired of him being at home and told him to start making wine again. So he did. It's called Loveblock and it's delicious. And there's a sunflower on the label which also makes me think of you.  Dad's on his way here to hug us and be with us. Hopefully our chaos is the distraction he needs. He's lonely, Mom. It's heart breaking. Almost as painful as  losing  you actually. Going to do my best to  lift him up but not sure he's ready yet. Not sure any of us are. Feels like you've been gone for a month, it's been 5 days. How is that even possible? Here's what I've learned about grief so far. It's weird and not uniform and looks so different on everyone. I can go about my day, because I don't have a choice, and function. I'm sad and it feels like there's a rain cloud above my head but I can be mostly present. T...

I just spent an inordinate amount of time on AT&T's website trying to figure out how many times I talk to Mom in a month. Also attempted to count text messages. Here's what I know, we spoke on the phone almost every day. We exchanged several dozen text messages a day. And now she's gone. Just like that. Gone. Mom is who I share the mundane with. She's the one I text when Costco has some sort of new magical weeknight dinner solution (hello street tacos and pork medallions). She's literally the only person who cares when I find a pair of Vineyard Vines shorts for Cannon at Marshall's. She's also the very first person I ever want to call when something exciting happens. She's the first person I tell when the kids get straight A's or when we get a note from a teacher telling us what a great human we're raising. And now she's gone.  And I need an outlet. My Dad is a great listener, advice giver, encourager but not so much on the talkin...