Month: June 2024

Lessons from “The Middle”

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“Your choice of font says more about you than the words it’s written in.” – Brick Heck, “The Middle”

My Mom was a big fan of the popular TV show “The Middle.” The series follows a quirky, Midwest family where the losses outnumber the wins, but the overriding theme is “you do for family.” Years ago my son introduced us to the show and months later I found out that Mom had been watching, too. She was a big fan of Brick, the family’s youngest son.

When she shared this information with me I laughed out loud. While Brick is super smart, an avid reader and a font enthusiast, he is also socially awkward and overlooked by his family day in and day out. Turns out, he was just my Mom’s kind of kid. My Mom worked as a Children’s Case Manager providing one-on-one help to kiddos with mental health needs and emotional disturbances. She said with an absolute straight face, “I could help him,” and I wholeheartendly believe she could.

Not everyone is created with a big heart, an empathetic nature and a spirit driven to help others, but my Mom was. She always loved kids and she was exceptionally good with them, I know because we were blessed to call her our Mom.

It is Atticus Shaffer’s birthday this week, that’s the real name of the actor who plays Brick Heck. I saw a post on social media reminding fans of the big day. We still binge watch the TV show in our house (and I know my sister does, too). During these watch sessions, I always remind my kiddos how much Mom loved Brick. They already know, but none of us get tired of saying it.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

May Flowers

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Lilacs are May in essence. — Jean Hersey

My lilac bush didn’t really bloom. I say really because it wanted to, it tried, but it just couldn’t get there.

I always get excited when I see the bush start to turn that distinct, vibrant green. It’s nature’s way of telling my soul that spring is near. I don’t get excited because spring is my favorite season (it isn’t). I don’t get excited because lilacs are my favorite flower (they’re not). I do get excited because lilacs are my Mom’s favorite flower and somehow, someway, these beautiful purple buds have appeared at every house I’ve ever lived in. We talked about it. It was a strange and beautiful coincidence.

When my Mom was sick in the hospital, our last text conversation was about the lilacs in the backyard. Her situation was so dire and I wanted so desperately to believe that the blooming lilacs were a good sign. We talked about how much she loved that shade of purple, how sweet lilacs smelled and she reminded me again that these were her favorite flowers. Throughout that May, the lilacs flourished while her condition grew worse.

Grief causes one to do strange things. One of the by products of my grief was a deep dive into lilacs. While I’m certainly not a lilac expert, there are a few facts that stood out. Did you know that lilacs are extremely hardy? An especially cold winter helps them to go dormant — something the bush needs to bloom big in the spring. And lilacs have a super short blooming season…typically two to three weeks only making them unique and rare. While lilacs are known for their beautiful blooms in a range of colors, it’s their fragrance that truly stands out.

I mentioned before that my lilacs really didn’t bloom this year. There was certainly effort. I would go out and check only to find a handful of purple buds none of which fully bloomed or had any scent at all. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Like the lilac bush, I too am stuck. I try, there’s effort, but I’m stuck in grief.

We often fail to talk about our grief journey. It’s hard, it’s not a fun topic of conversation, no one wants to feel sad, it’s a burden to those around you, but once you are forced onto this road it never ends. It keeps going…and going.

Time heals all wounds…at least that’s the saying. I beg to differ.

Mom died four years ago on May 30th. Nothing is the same..including the flowers.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

No New T-Shirts

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I’m not sure when it all started, but I guess that’s probably what most people say when they try to remember the beginning of a tradition. For whatever reason, my Mom almost always seemed to be visiting in March. Sometimes it would be before the Big 12 Tournament and other times just after, but nevertheless, she would be here and that meant that the quest for our Jayhawk t-shirts would begin. Sometimes we shopped at the mall, other times we found shirts at Dillons and then there were times we would visit a local sports store and the fun would begin. Would we get a red shirt, a blue shirt, a white shirt? Eventually heather gray would become an option. Classic Jayhawk, retro bird, large logo, no logo? So many choices. You know Casey was always down to find a new Jayhawk shirt and just like that, another generation was added into the mix. It wasn’t really March Madness if we didn’t have a new shirt to support our favorite team!

Those days are gone now. Casey and I try our best to keep the tradition. Back in the day, most of the shirt themes revolved around a conference title or a tournament title. And if you know, you know that didn’t happen this year. Trust me that doesn’t mean we didn’t support our team, we have plenty of swag to do that! We just didn’t get new gear in March.

I’m not sure what my Mom would think about her memory being associated with Jayhawk t-shirts, but I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind. I mean the woman had a whole room dedicated to Jayhawk memorabilia! Looking back, I feel blessed that we were able to share this fandom. Just one of a million reasons why she is missed.

#RockChalkForever

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

I’m So Glad You Were Born

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I wish heaven had visiting hours… Unknown

It’s your birthday, Mom. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of you not being here. Three years have passed and on most days I still sit in disbelief. It’s a constant, unwelcome feeling and one that hits harder on holidays and special occasions like your birthday.

Today especially, I’m reminded of how many lives you’ve touched and how there are dozens of us who are better for knowing you. It’s crazy but if any one of us could know the impact of our lives on others, I think we would crumble under that reality. And that’s why I thank God that you were born. In your own quiet way, in your own corner of the world, and in our family YOU have made all the difference. Truly, I sit in awe of your sphere of influence.

They say the greater the love, the greater the loss. There are no truer words. Today there are no big celebrations, only quiet remembrances. Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. You are incredibly loved and so immensely missed.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Mother’s Day — I Didn’t Forget, It’s Just Hard Remembering

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Grief is the price we pay for love.

This Mother’s Day was especially blessed. I had the opportunity to watch my daughter graduate from high school amongst family and friends. The milestone marked the end of one era and the beginning of another. These past few weeks have been filled with end-of-school events…days filled with activities that kept us running from sunup to sundown. I couldn’t be prouder of the young lady she is becoming. Everything concluded with a wonderful party, lots of celebration…and a much-needed nap.

All in all, it felt like there was very little time for Mother’s Day. And still, there were gentle reminders everywhere. First, at church that morning where families sat together for a graduation breakfast. Then again as I prepared to watch my daughter receive her diploma. I couldn’t help but notice the venue filled with other families and their relatives— mothers and grandmothers (even great-grandmothers) beaming with pride as the fanfare commenced. And finally, at the grad party where I know my mother would have been my partner in planning and executing the fun details of the day.

She should be here. She would love this.

With everything going on, Mother’s Day was the last thing on my list and an inescapable thought at the same time. It was all very conflicting. While I am happy to see other women honored on this special day, I miss my mom. I don’t begrudge anyone this celebratory opportunity, in fact, I wholeheartedly believe it’s important to honor our mothers — especially if it’s in memory only.

Many wished me a Happy Mother’s Day and asked if I had anything special planned. My answer was always no. I didn’t forget, it’s just hard remembering.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

The Trouble with Birthdays

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“Life doesn’t come with a manual, it comes with a mother.” — Unknown

It’s my birthday. The big 4–8. I’m celebrating it exactly the way I like…quietly. I always tease my family about what a big deal this is…like April is my birthday month, then there is pre-birthday week, birthday week, birthday eve, the actual birthday, post-birthday week, etc. It’s obnoxious and fun, but especially funny because I’m not really a big deal birthday kind of girl.

Today, I am especially thinking about my Mom and missing her a lot. It seems fitting that one would give thanks to the woman who gave one life. My Mom used to text me first thing in the morning and then call me later in the day. She would always tell me that she knew it was my birthday because she would get phantom labor pain to remind her of this day. It was the same joke every year, but we laughed about it every time. I miss her giggle.

When your Mother passes away birthdays hit differently. Who else can say they’ve known you in the same way that your Mother has? This is the trouble with birthdays. When your Mom is gone you grieve her on her birthday..and then you quickly realize that you grieve her on every other birthday as well.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

#LOCKDOWN

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“Everyone can master a grief but he that has it.” — William Shakespeare

The first time I came across one of these posts, it felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. Then the posts and hashtags seemed to multiply overnight. Social media users around the globe were marking the three-year anniversary of the Covid-19 pandemic with posts romanticizing the lockdown. People were nostalgic for school closings, endless Netflix marathons, closed businesses, and life without alarm clocks. I get it, the pandemic affected each of us differently. We’re not supposed to judge trauma or anyone’s reaction to it. Still, I sit here asking myself, did I miss something?

2020 CHANGED MY LIFE. The losses cannot be undone. The disappointment will never go away. The heartbreak will forever endure. Today I read posts and articles, listen to podcasts, and watch videos of people trying to find a silver lining and paint a rosy picture of the pandemic and I don’t get it. Why?

Author Bessel Van Der Kolk writes that trauma comes back as a reaction, not a memory. That’s where I am. The pandemic is not a memory for me. There is no nostaligia. Covid-19 left a lasting impact on each one of us. I don’t begrudge anyone their own interpretation of the events that took place. I truly believe we were all in survival mode…and with 1,000,000+ lives lost in the United States and many more worldwide…some of us are still just surviving.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

When It Rains

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“Every storm runs out of rain.” –Maya Angelou

Rainy days will always remind me of red galoshes, soggy socks, and Mom.

When I was an undergrad my Mother gifted me with a red raincoat and matching red boots. (Did I mention that red is my favorite color?) It was my third year of college and I had just entered the School of Journalism which meant I now had broadcasting classes and needed to be “camera-ready” at all times. (You can laugh at me! I’m laughing at myself, too.)

She ordered the set from a catalog and presented it to me before I returned for the spring semester. I’m definitely not a rain person. In fact, I basically hate the rain but I have to admit I was a little excited to wear this get-up when the first drops started to fall. I parked my car, pulled on the hood of my new raincoat, and began walking to class feeling fully protected from the weather. All was right in the world until I noticed that my socks were getting cold and wet. Not in the toes, but right around the back of my ankle. That’s odd I thought, but kept walking.

Before long, my socks were completely wet. Soaked really. I made a beeline for the restroom before class and realized that the rain was dripping off the back of my coat and right into my galoshes! The perfect trajectory. What were the chances? I had no choice but to take the boots off and empty the rainwater into the sink. I stuffed paper towels into them to absorb any excess water. Next, I rung out my socks and held them under the hand dryer. Finally, I hurried off to class.

I remember telling my Mom this story and how heartily she laughed at me and with me.

“But did your hair and make-up hold up?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom, they held up perfectly. Camera-ready,” I replied.

On my next visit home, she gifted me with an extra large red umbrella.

No one will ever love you as much as your Mother.

I will send down showers in season, there will be showers of blessings.

Ezekiel 34:26

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Love Full Circle

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If you love someone put their name in a circle not a heart, because a heart can be broken, a circle goes on forever. — Brian Littrell

As the holidays approach I think of my Mom in her kitchen, busy making delicious dishes while simultaneously watching Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel. I would tease her about this.

Mom, these shows all have the same plot.

Mom, these movies are farcical.

Mom, this show was just on. Why are you watching it again?

She took it all in stride. Mom loved the Hallmark Channel. In typical monkey-see, monkey-do fashion, I also became a fan of the Hallmark Channel. Who can resist the predictable storylines, the far-fetched romance, and my favorite part — the happy endings!

This year there is a new Christmas movie that I happened to stumble across. It’s the second part, a follow-up if you will, to a movie that aired in 2014. I remember watching the first movie with my Mom. I can’t even tell you how silly this movie is! Still, I can so clearly remember her, my sister and I, all busy in the kitchen and watching the original movie together. So when the new movie aired a few weeks ago, I just had to watch it.

Part of the new storyline includes grieving over the mother of the main character, who has passed away. The two sisters were doing their best to move on, yet there they were together on Christmas…reminiscing over an Advent calendar created by their mother. I don’t want to give away the plot, but there was a line that stood out to me. Love, full circle. No beginning. No end. Just love. The sisters talked about their mother making wreaths and how they symbolize love, full circle. This was a trademark characteristic of their mother. Mine, too.

I’m not going to lie. Part of the reason I continue watching Hallmark movies is the same reason I started in the first place, it’s because of my Mom. I’m grateful that they remind me so much of her and honestly, it makes me feel close to her still.

She would have liked this new movie, she would have watched it a million plus times, and I would have teased her about it.

Love, full circle.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

In Case of Rain

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“…my God, I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat thinking it was a marvel that I never got wet.” — The Raincoat, Ada Limon

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of the rain. That steadfast pitter-patter on the window is sheer annoyance to me. I don’t mind cloudy days or thunderstorms, but slow steady rain drains my energy and tests my patience.

Rain=Melancholy

I’m in a rainy season now and when I came across Ada Limon’s poem, The Raincoat, it struck me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Her account of a mother’s love for her child resonates with me as both a mother and a daughter. I know how much I love my own children and it’s overwhelming to think that I was once that child—the recipient of a mother’s unconditional love.

These days I feel more vulnerable. Exposed. No umbrella. No raincoat.

Without my mother, I feel the rain. I miss the shelter of a mother’s unconditional love. I miss the assurance that comes from her covering and protection.

Mostly, I miss her.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.