Easter Sunday

This morning I woke up crying. Thinking about what Christ's resurrection means to me brought on a barrage of emotions that I wasn't prepared for. Because He lives, I can be with my family forever--a thought which brings great happiness and peace to me. But that thought also reminds me that I am not with all of those that I love right now. And that thought brings me a sorrow that, even while I have hope and faith, makes the tears flow.

All morning long I debated whether or not I would go to church--I couldn't decide which would be worse, staying at home with too much time to think or hearing people's testimonies of how we can be together in eternity because of Christ's Atonement (because I'd just cry the whole time). As I walked down to take care of the chickens I had the thought that it would be just fine to stay home--there was no shame in taking time for myself.

So I sent everyone except Ruthie off to church, and decided that even though I'm sad, I'm still going to take care of myself--not just lounge around in my pjs all morning. Ruth was happily pushing a stool around the house, so I decided to sneak in a quick shower. No sooner than I got in than Ruth crawled into the bathroom, sat outside the shower and cried like her heart was breaking. For the whole. Shower.

It got me thinking--all that was separating us was a shower curtain. But Ruthie couldn't see me or be with me, and that was all she wanted. She wanted me. Not the knowledge that I was so close. Not hearing my disembodied voice. She just wanted me--my physical presence, my hugs, my comfort.

Sad Ruthie!

I guess that's what I want today, too. My pain isn't overwhelming or incapacitating, but it is real and it is there. So I'm going to let myself feel it and embrace it today. And then I'll come out of it again--because of my hope and faith in my Savior. Because through Him I know I'll be with Mom again. I still hurt, but I also have hope.

QOTD x 2

While eating breakfast I told everyone about an personal email I received asking if Elise was going to attend the Royal Winnipeg Ballet summer intensive this year. Stephen's response was great:

"Did you get a hand-written email?"

***

We need a new car, I know, I know. The kids are getting bigger and there aren't enough seat belts as it is. The only time it's really a problem is when we all go to church in the same car...like today. Elise, Mason and Trevor (in his booster seat) were all in the back seat. Some sort of squabbling was going on between Mason and Trevor, and Elise exclaimed, 

"MASON! Stop acting like a 4-year-old!!!"

Mason: "Well, HE started it!!"

Griefburst

For the last 8 weeks I've been attending a Hospice group for the bereaved. It has been absolutely wonderful for me. There are about 13 of us with 5 co-facilitators, and we have grown pretty close over the weeks. At first there were lots and lots of tears, and I kept my head down most of the time, but over the weeks of mourning together we have started laughing more--it has been a transformational experience for me.

Anyhow, we use a book called, "Understanding Your Grief: Ten Touchstones For Finding Hope and Healing Your Heart" by Alan Wolfelt. In it, the author talks about "griefbursts"--times when an uncontrollable sense of grief overcomes you, often out of the blue. Well, I had one today. What triggered it? My wonderful 13-year-old daughter acting like a 13-year-old. (Imagine that!)

Last night Elise went to a ballet performance and didn't get home until 10 p.m. At 10:30 I went down to check on everybody, and her light was still on. She had dance this morning beginning at 8:30, and when Elise doesn't get enough sleep she is (like her mother) grumpy. Sure enough, this afternoon while cleaning the house (our Thursday afternoon activity) she was tired and grumpy. And I was annoyed. Why hadn't she figured out (I've certainly reminder her enough times!) that she needs to get more sleep or she's ornery?!?

At that moment I remembered when I used to spend the night at Apryl's house and, inevitably, would be grumpy the next day. Mom would threaten no more sleep-overs if I couldn't be nice the day after, and I would think how unfair she was and that I certainly wasn't being grumpy, and why was everyone acting so awfully towards me?

And then the tears started. I just wanted to call Mom and tell her about Elise and ask for her advice. She'd laugh and laugh, and soon I'd be laughing, too, a little abashed that that is exactly how I used to act, but anxious for Mom to remind me how wonderful daughters are, even when they are 13 (or 35) and tired and grumpy and completely irrational.

There is no one quite like a mother. No one who knows your ins and outs and sadness and triumphs (because it's never bragging when you tell your mother!) and even when she doesn't agree with you, loves and trusts you.