Daughters of mine

At Mark's viewing at the funeral home, a woman gave me a well-intended, yet curious, piece of advice. She told me not to forget about my daughters. My response...(in my head, of course) What?!! Forget about my daughters? My daughters were the only reason that I was still living and breathing...the only reason that I could think of to go on at all. How could I possibly forget them?


She was, as she went on to tell me, speaking from personal experience. Her brother had died when she and her sisters were children and she told me that her parents had basically "forgotten" about the girls. And, as sad as it is that she had to endure that...I can understand how easily it can happen. I hasn't happened to us, but it is a daily struggle. Not because we don't love our girls every ounce as much as we love Mark, but because it would be easier to give in to the grief and give up on life. It just hurts that much.


It is a delicate balance between grief and happiness when you have other children to care for. Life stopped for us when Mark died, but yet, my husband and I are responsible for these other, equally as precious, lives that depend on us for everything. Should I decide that I just don't want to live through this sorrow another day...I am condemning those precious girls to even more emotional turmoil than they have already experienced. They long for us, their parents, to be "okay". They have their moments of sadness as well as sharing in many family moments of sorrow. However, for the most part, they want life to be "normal" again...whatever that is. We have no choice but to do our best to appear happy...to function well enough to keep us from literally going crazy. Our girls deserve that. They deserve better, but it is all we can do right now. Grief is an all-encompassing monster that can consume every bit of energy that I have. But, in the midst of fighting off the pain, I must purposely make time for the joy.


I can't explain how much my love has grown for these extraordinary little people that live in my house. I appreciate everything so much more. I try and absorb each little tidbit that they throw my way. The smiles, laughs, cuddles, jokes and conversation. It all means so much more than it ever did. The only problem is that most of the time my broken spirit overwhelms me to the point that I can only focus on how much I miss Mark. It is certainly frustrating. I can forget the pain for a few moments when I am basking in the special moments that come, but as soon the time is over, my mind is violently jerked back to the reality of grief. The truth is, I have to say goodbye to Mark each day just like the day he died.


The sweetness mixed with the sorrow is bittersweet and not what I had planned for my life. That is why I am trying so very hard to realize that it is not MY life. I gave it to God long ago and I intend to see what He has in store for me. My lack of understanding doesn't mean that God doesn't know what He is doing. I wish that I had the answers...I find myself pondering the "whys" each day, even though I may never know here on earth.


I will choose to be thankful for the 2 magnificent years that I had with my son and to be equally as thankful for my 4 beautiful, curious, intelligent, energetic, compassionate and caring daughters whom, as my Granny used to say, "I love to pieces"!

I love you girls!

From my arms to HIS

From my arms...

straight to HIS arms...

forever.

If only I could catch a glimpse behind the veil...

to see my baby boy in Heaven's perfection and glory.

If he could tell me, "I'm fine, Mommy"...

would it be enough?

I wish every day that it could be...

that I could see Mark running and playing and praising God.

I will have to believe it to get me through the years...

no matter how many I must endure here.

Until I get to hold him in my arms once more.

I miss him.

Cheese!

How about this for cute!?






There is my little guy...in the high chair at Nana's house. (sigh)

As I was helping my mother load all of her pictures from her camera to her computer the other day...I came across this one. It was a painful shock and a great surprise all at the same time. It seems that all of the pictures that I have of Mark are getting a little less difficult to look at...I am getting used to them and I can anticipate what my response will be as I prepare to look at them. However, when I am confronted with a picture of him that I have never seen...like the one above...well...let me just tell you that it is like a tidal wave of emotion.

I'll just get to the point of this post. A memory that I may have mentioned at an earlier time, but maybe in not so much detail. Here goes...


Cheese. Yes, cheese. I want it to be recorded that my Marco Polo LOVED him some cheese. But, not just ANY cheese. No. Not the distinguished cheddar or swiss. Not him. He only liked the best...processed American cheese slices. Ha!


Yes, the ones that come individually wrapped in plastic. (yuk). I'm not sure what made me begin to buy them in the first place because we just don't eat them in this house and nobody was eating them before Mark decided that he liked them. Who knows. Regardless of HOW he discovered that he liked them...he liked them. A lot of them. In fact, he could eat about 4 of them...one right after another. Before you think badly of me, let me just tell you that I only bought the best. Kraft! : )



All joking aside, Mark loved those cheese slices. I will never forget how he would shove them into his mouth just as quickly as we would give them to him. We thought that it was pretty funny that he would have the entire slice in his mouth...cheeks so fat...trying to chew...and would already be holding out his hand for another one while saying "cheese". Although, really, it sounded more like "chuelja;sljf ealj fe"... if you get my drift.



So, even though I don't have a picture of him eating the cheese...you can bet that in the picture above...he had already finished a few slices or he was about to. Most likely the latter, since he has no traces of it stuck to his face yet.


I can almost picture him standing in front of the fridge right now...waiting for the cheese. (sigh).

Why My Mommy Lies

My Mom she tells a lot of lies
She never did before
But from now until the day she dies
She'll tell a whole lot more.

Ask my mom how she is
And because she can't explain
She will tell a little lie
Because she can't describe the pain.

Ask my mom how she is
And she'll say "I'm alright".
If that's the truth, then tell me
why does she cry each night?

Ask my mom how she is
She seems to cope so well
She doesn't have a choice you see
Nor the strength to yell

Ask my mom how she is
"I'm fine", "I'm well", "I'm coping"
For goodness sake mom, just tell the truth
Just say your heart is broken.

She'll love me all her life
I loved her all of mine
But if you ask her how she is
She'll lie and say she's fine.

I am here in Heaven
I cannot hug from here
If she lies to you I'll listen-
Hug her and hold her near.

On the day we meet again
We'll smile and I'll be bold
I'll say, "You're lucky to get in here, Mom
With all the lies you told"!

-unknown author

Sand baby

This is what Mark was doing in January of 08...

(yes, we are at the beach...it was unusually warm that January...even for Texas!)

I can't say much...remembering is too emotional today. Christmas was especially difficult without him and I am exhausted from missing him. Since the girls and Joe have been home on break, the hole in our family where Mark should be is still so obvious.

I pray that this year I can begin to praise God more and more for all that He has given to me and not focus so much on what He took away.