Monday

It's Monday morning after vacation and I'm reminded of how tired you feel on that first work day morning after you've been away. I'm not sure why that should be, our vacation consisted of nothing but relaxing by a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains. I think it must be about the hours you keep while on vacation and at least for me, it's difficult to sleep well in a bed that's not your own. Oh, who am I kidding? For me, it's difficult to sleep well period!

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation. Our son and his wife, two of my brothers and their wives as well as my dad were able to be with us for a few days which really added to the fun. It was nice to see my dad enjoying himself. My husband took him out fishing on the boat which he was very excited about.

You'd think that being away and in vacation mode you wouldn't miss a loved ones presence as much but it was the opposite for me. I really felt my mom's absence last week. There are still so many times when it just doesn't feel right that she's not around. Seeing my dad sitting on the end of the dock in a chair all alone just felt wrong. Knowing that the extra twin size bed in the room my son was staying in would be sufficient space for Dad to sleep in felt strange. Maybe it's because I was surrounded by the beauty of nature and whenever that happens I find myself looking for her and asking the question, "Where are you?". I know some of you might be tempted to answer that question for me but I don't see it as a question that anyone could answer but her. "Where are you now Mom?"

Maybe it's because my parents anniversary fell during our vacation time. They would have been married fifty-seven years on June 20th. I couldn't help but recall that day in the hospital when my mom couldn't talk because she had a tube down her throat and she put her hand over her heart, then my dad's and held up five fingers, then six to signify the fifty six years they'd been married. That's something that none of us will ever forget.

The last night that my dad and siblings would be visiting we decided to go out to dinner together. My brother brought up the subject of a stone for mom's gravesight seeing as nothing has been placed yet. Those of us there agreed on what should be done, pending approval of the rest of the family but as the conversation went on, my tears started to flow. It was one of those times that all the self-talk in the world, trying to convince myself to stop, was not going to work. I excused myself, had a good cry in the ladies room (thankfully noone entered while I was in there!), and returned to the table. I've only been to the cemetary a couple of times since Mom passed in October, it's still too difficult to face the reality of what waits for me there. The thought of a stone with her name on it brings that reality home even harder.

I took a ride over to my dad's house yesterday to show him my new car (can you say WOOHOO!?). After we went for a ride I went in to see his new TV, his old one died and he wasted no time in replacing it. His TV is his companion now and I'm happy he found a nice new one to carry on that job. Anyway, I started fussing with his plants a bit, most of which were pretty sorry looking. One African Violet could not be salvaged and had to be thrown in the trash can. I could feel the emotions brewing when the thought came that even the poor plants miss Mom. I could see her so clearly in my head tinkering around the kitchen, watering those plants. It still just doesn't seem right without her there. The thought even came into my head (briefly) that I wish Dad would move. Maybe if he lived in a place she'd never been it would be easier to be there. Somehow my dad has found a way to be there and carry on. Perhaps he's comforted by her lingering presence there. I remember when my aunt was thinking about selling her house several years after my uncle died she confided in me that she hadn't been able to do so because it was the last place she could still feel him. She was afraid if she left she wouldn't be able to feel his presence any more. I can't tell you how long the grieving process takes. Perhaps I need to accept that it may have no end. It's been eight months and to my heart it seems like a little blip in time, but time keeps moving on.

Oh well, it's Monday morning and it's back to the grind. Baby's waking up in his swing and is letting me know it's chow time. I get to give him cereal for the first time this morning, another indication that time is moving forward. Happy Monday all.

xo,
Carrie