And I'm learning.

If there is anything I've learned about grief, is that it's not linear.

Days, weeks and now years pass by. People say time heals, I think they mean you adapt.  I'm not certain it is easier.  I still long daily to call my mom, to share the latest baby milestone that only a mother could appreciate, to tell her a funny story, to ask about how to make that spanish casserole we always enjoyed.  To hear her advice, or simply to get that reassuring voice on the phone, "Hi sweetie" she'd say, and somehow the day would be easier, because the one you always went to when you needed something was there.  Just her listening to you tell your story lightened your load.

I'm learning to adapt, to not crumble at parties, showers and big celebrations when people introduce me to 'their mother'.  Sometimes those words make my throat tight and my knees wobbly, but I'm learning to hide it.  To simply smile and embrace the moment they are having together as something they may not completely grasp for years to come.  The simple times together and the huge grand celebrations together.  Because I think I began grieving parts of our relationship for years before she passed.  I think she did, too.  It was a funny unspoken understanding between us.  I described our daughters nursery in great detail because she could no longer climb stairs to see how I placed everything just so and she poured her love over in words because she was unable to lift and hold and rock my first baby girl how she longed to. And we both sighed inside at the way we thought (and prayed) it would be different.

I share because it helps me, to move forward, to understand, to get out what I'm feeling.  And perhaps learn that I'm not alone.

And I'm learning, there is nothing linear about the heart.  It feels and remembers on it's own time. These pings on my heart are reminders of cherished times and glimpses of the true importance of life.  Each-other.

My hippie mama, I love you so. And each day I'm a mother I am more aware of your love for me. What a beautiful gift that is.

Preschool.

We found the sweetest preschool I could imagine for our little lady.  The teachers are inspired, friendly, motivated and incredibly creative.  Did I mention, patient?  Over the last five months I have seen our girls confidence soar.  She is so excited for this sense of autonomy and the friendships she is growing each day.

I was so pleased when I picked her up last week and the founder of the school stopped me to share our welcoming Chloe was to a new girl who was visiting the school on a tour that day/  She introduced herself and quickly asked her to come play along with the other kids. It's these small gestures that give parents confidence that their children are thriving.

And really if there is anything we all can learn it is the inclusiveness that young children exhibit toward one another.  Don't we all want to hear, "hello, would you like to be my friend?".

 

 

 

 

Ordinary Days.

So much to say, so little time for blogging.  With time I'll carve out a few more hours or maybe even a hour in the week to have to myself.  To work on things other than laundry and housework.  To create, to capture memories in the mostly blank baby books that sit on my desk and to pour over and organize the thousands of photos we have taken of our little girls.  Until then, I'm doing my best each day to savor the wild moments that make up our days.  The times when I feel like I can't catch my breath because caring for little ones demands a lot of attentiveness and action.  And I'm learning how to allow myself to say no to things that pull me from these dear tasks.

I know much love is shared in the moments no one talks about, the hair brushing, cup pouring, hand holding moments that children don't really remember.  But they do remember the care behind those moments.  The attitude in which I help, care for and answer to their needs.  If you catch me first thing in the morning, those responses are slow, snappy and tired...I'm learning to allow myself grace in those moments and simply the presence to recognize and the drive to simply start over.  Because not just each day is new, but each moment.