She Lives in Me...She Lives in You

Hello Sweet Foxy Mama,

I sink into the corner of our sectional each morning, before anyone rises from slumber,  I prop the pillows, and wrap myself with the fuzzy blanket, near the window, with the shades still drawn.

You know exactly where I am talking about because, this is where you sat Mom, each and every time you came to visit.  This was your corner, Foxy.  And I have come to realize that I sit here, because I long to feel you, in a way that is no longer possible.

March 26th marks one year that you left this Earth plane, and were born into Eternal life.  I feel you around me, Mom, grinning, laughing, whispering advice, and often times, shaking your head.

On our leisurely strolls home from Booksin, after picking up Cosette from school, Charlie will often inform me of the obvious, "Mom, Nana is dead now, but she's walking right next to us."

I half nod in agreement, and answer, "Yes, baby."  These little comments initially sting, but then after a moment, bring me a bit of comfort.

And have you seen how Cozy is growing, Mom?  She has become quite the independent Ms.Thang.   She is writing a Biography book report, and chose Dad because that Santa Rosa Baseball player is writing a book about him.  In true Cozy fashion, she explained to me, very matter of fact-like, "Mom, so I'm supposed to dress up like Papa for my book report," (pause for effect-dead pan look of seriousness), "so it looks like I'll hafta cut off my leg."

Emma continues to prepare to be the first female President of the United States.  But man, I love to raz her.  In fact, after opening her progress note of late, I called her into the kitchen, and sternly reprimanded, "This is unacceptable Emma," handing her the documentation showing all A+'s.  She dissolved into giggles of relief.  I say, "Use your powers for good, Em."

I'm sure you watch how Emma finds true pleasure in helping the adorable family with four little ones, 2 doors down from us.  On any given day of the week, 5 year old Sammy, 3 year old Leslie, and 2 year old Jake will amble down to our porch, calling for the Walsh girls to come and play.

And without hesitation, like a well performed symphony,  giggles, screaming, laughter,  sidewalk chalk and bubbles fill the air.  Emma and Bo typically lead the procession - on and off the trampoline, up and down our street.  It's like having a parade, audience optional.  Their zest for dress up, and make believe and warm cookies from the oven, insatiable.

 I love it, Mom.  I'm learning to cherish these precious shenanigans.  You taught me that.

And those twins.  God, Mom, you would be so proud.  You remember first hand,  how they struggled with their learning challenges?!  If you saw them now:  Abby and Bella are navigating the college prep waters of Notre Dame, like the diligent little fighters with 504 Plans, that they are.

Their grades are solid, their faith nourished and growing by leaps and bounds, their confidence bursting at the seams.  More importantly, they are genuinely happy, Mom.  Applying and being accepted into ND, was the first parenting triumph where I can honestly exhale, and say, "Whew...I'm glad that worked out."

Make no mistake about it, I'll put them into therapy for something, but it won't be linked to ND.

While out on a walk with Bella just recently, she shared with me, "You know Mom, Abby and I used to be jealous and competitive of each other."

"What?  You were?"  I took this new information in, dumbfounded.  "When did it change? And how did that change come about?"  I can't NOT interrogate.


Isabella contemplated for a moment, and answered quietly, "Probably around 7th grade is when it changed.  I think that we started loving ourselves more, and then we could then love one another more.  We were able to appreciate our differences, instead of viewing them as a threat."

Wow.  Did NOT see that coming.

Everyone says the first year after you lose someone is extremely difficult.  It's like learning a new dance without the partner that was an instrumental part of the routine.

There were all the "monumental days" without you, Foxy:  Mother's Day, all the girls' birthdays, Christmas, and now, your Heavenly Birthday.  I'm racked with this thirst to hug you gently, smooch on your sweet cheek, paint your nails sparkly.  And hear you say, "You're such a good girl," one more time.

I used to worry that without you here, I would lose the ability to seek your wisdom on raising the girls, feedback on growing in my marriage, furthering my faith journey, or sharing the latest pictures from People's Sexiest Men Alive, of Chris Helmsworth and Hugh Jackman.  That was pretty sweet, hugh, Mom?

But the funny thing is, I hear you,, I smell you, and I feel you all around me constantly.  It's like the Lion King song, when Mufasa is teaching Simba, that all of their ancestors live on, in and through them.  And now I am Simba, realizing, that you live in me.  And you continue to live in everyone you touched.

I am homesick to be with you, and our Creator, but understand and accept that my work here is far from complete.  And that fact, in and of itself, will make our reunion that much more lovely.

I have been incredibly blessed on so many levels, Mom.  I look at the girls and Tom, and I am continually humbled by their authentic love for each other and for me...especially when I feel unworthy of that love.

And when I miss you terribly, I remember the one thing you had on your bucket list: taking the grandkids to see the Broadway production of The Lion King in San Francisco.  We checked that one off, Mom.

And I listen to this song, and remember Mufasa's and Rafiki's words to Simba,
Happy Heavenly Birthday.  I love you so much Mom.