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Without Hade. Time flies

Without Hade. blink On Wednesday you will have been gone a year. A year! A year? It’s twisted this thing called memory. It feels like it’s been a lifetime ago, but if I close my eyes, I replay the day you left like it was just this morning and it’s not helping that I’m listening to Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No 2 in c minor. Stupid Russian composers squeezing every emotion out of my heart, not to mention the minor keys are killer for a melancholy mood.

The ridiculous things I’ve been struggling with the past few days. I have been beating myself up for not having the cell phone in our room the day you died. Why wasn’t I prepared? Truth is I just never really thought you would die. I was holding out hope for a miraculous healing not to mention the denial factor. Syd asked me when I realized that you were going to die and I said “never.” Yes, HOPE can carry your dreams and desires a long distance. In a way, it’s like pregnancy. You know a baby is coming, and you can read the books and buy the clothes and pick a name, and love them, but until they place that bundle on your breast, you can’t really know what it’s like to have a child.

I heard the Drs. say you had no other treatments, and we made "the plans" and used the terms “palliative” and “hospice,” but until we watched you take your last earthly breath, it just couldn’t register.

So now I go back over the day and wish I would have believed what they said would be true for you and had brought the phone into our room. Instead, Adam couldn’t reach us in his desperation, and they had to get poor Pastor Denny out of his warm bed, put on his bathrobe and slippers and drive over to our house only to have to pound on our door to finally wake us. (God bless that man and all good Pastors!) That wasn’t at all how I thought it would go down Hade. So, yeah, I’m angry about the phone.

And then there’s your make-up. Since you left, I’ve been using it, and it brings me so much joy in remembering the amazing artist you were with make-up and the way you used your beautiful face as a palette. The liners, creams, powders, brushes, and tools that you used to make magic for yourself and many others.

I remember all the little tips and tricks you tried to teach me. I remember all the laughs and looks we got at Sephora and Ulta as you were trying to help a beauty challenged person like me. I’m still using the plastic eyebrow guides we bought in Target. How we laughed over that purchase, and I still try to put some eyebrows on in honor of you. If you could see me trying to line the plastic guide up on one eyebrow with one hand, while holding the brow pencil in the other, not being able to see without my glasses. I’ve never gotten them straight let alone matching. Fortunately, people have been kind, and no one has had the courage to say, “My, what large or crooked or slanted eyebrows you have!”

But, now the mascara is gone, and your other magic potions and cosmetics are running low and I know they are coming to an end and it may seem silly to other people, but that was such a special mother-daughter time for me that I’m sad to say goodbye. Even to a small piece of it. I will replace some of your things, but they will be my things now, and it can’t be the same.

These are just a couple of things I’ve been thinking about as I miss and mourn you, my darling girl. I know Jesus and heaven are over the top more than I can imagine, but life on the planet is still hard for us and the big hole you left. We continue to do as God has commanded us down here. Love God and Love people and to press on toward the goal to win the prize God has called us heavenward in Jesus Christ.

See you soon. I love you, mom

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