Life

April 26, 2025

Well, Happy New Year, almost 4 months late. But, if you've been reading my posts, you can guess why.

My Mom passed away in late January. She left us quietly the evening and we were all able to be with her to say our goodbye's. It was what we had hoped for, if she couldn't stay with us, then for her to be taken from us with loving care.

Christmas was probably her last best day. My son got her a gag gift, a nerf rocket gun and although she struggled firing it (I had trouble too, TBH), she got some good shots off, hitting my son a few times. She laughed a good bit that day, but of course tired out quickly and slept.

About two weeks before she passed, she became unable to get out of the hospital bed or eat anything solid. She still drank for a while, but even that began to make her choke. She slept, pretty much 24 hours a day. Her weight dropped dramatically. Hospice was wonderful to us, always assured us what was happening was normal and was there to answer all our questions. Even up until about 24 hours prior to her passing, she was still smiling and joking with us.

Since she's been gone, life has been quiet. It is an adjustment going from being a full-time caregiver for the past eight years (solidly full time for about 4) to having nothing to do during the day, adjusting to making one cup of coffee instead of two, making a meal for one, instead of two, you get the picture. Since the hubs travels for his job nearly five days a week, I always thought the silence would be a nice change. I could play my music loud and it wouldn't interfere with Mom's TV shows or I could just sit in the quiet and work on my junk journaling without hearing the 1,420th replay of Blood Bloods (Mom loved her some Tom Selleck!). But it's been too quiet, too silent.

Yes, I play music, yes I junk journal, yes, I do my graphics work, but it's...empty. There are days that I just want my Mom back....no, I want my healthy Mom back. I want to be able to sit and talk about the mundane crap we used to do over breakfast. I want to be able to run in there and tell her some good news about one of my boys, I want to tell her about my day or listen to her fuss at the dogs when the leap on her lap after being outside in the rain. I want to hear her praise my husband's cooking (he is BBQ master). I want to see her smile as I pass by her chair on the way to the kitchen. That smile, even when she could no longer say but a word or two, said a thousand I love you's.

The house is different. Her bedroom is now my husband's office; the living room is arranged the way I want it. It's my house on paper, my name on the deed, my childhood home. Yet, it's not mine. It's my parents' home, built the way they wanted it, renovated to their specifications over the years. What should feel like home to me, sometimes just feels as if I'm just a caretaker for THEIR home. It's a painful reality. The house my husband and I used to own feels more like MY home than this is and I haven't lived in it for 10 years. Yet, for all that, I still don't think I could live anywhere else, because it's still got "them" in it.

So, I will go forward because that's what Mom would expect.

Love you, Mom...damn...you were the bestest Momma ever.

Journey on, friends,

Lex :)