Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Here's to me not being such an emotionless robot:

I think it's a common understanding among most young people today that something isn't really official until it's Facebook official. Whether it be a change in relationship status, a new job, acceptance to the college of your choice, or whatever the case may be—it’s only real once Facebook knows. As backwards as that may be, I know it has something to do with our growing fascination with posting and publishing even the most inane things in our lives. I’ve fallen subject to it, too, so I get it.

But I’ve been keeping this super secret blog for months, so why go public now?


Last week, my mother hugged me.

The last time I felt my mother’s touch was June 16, 2003, just a few weeks before she died. And last week, it happened again, after praying and wishing more than anything for six and a half years for just for one more encapsulating hug from her. One of those hugs that only a mother can give. A giant bear hug that makes the entire rest of the world fall to pieces. A hug that shows you how truly loved you are. My mom gave THE BEST hugs. And I finally felt that feeling again.

It was the most amazing, inspiring, uplifting, magnificent, vivid and REAL dream I have ever had.

Let me start by saying that last week was rough. On top of silly personal and some not-so-big-deal work things, I had two car mishaps in one day and had to spend 3 hours waiting at NTB the night of The Dream. I got back to my apartment around 8:00, immediately downed some Nyquil (I was sick, too, on top of it all), and promptly went to bed.

I fell asleep quickly, and did not stir until I awoke the next morning.

I have dreamed about my mother frequently. I have felt her with me when I’m particularly sad. I have recalled her voice. But never like this… I’ve dreamed of situations with her that did happen, of situations that never happened, of situations that will never happen… The only way I can describe this particular dream would be if God gave us one more day together. It was understood that she was dead and that fact would not change once our day was over. We had the day. It was not discussed. It was just known. (Read “One Day More” by Mitch Albom if you haven’t, by the way)

We spent the day in Denison. Not at our house, just kind of…in Denison, somehow. She wanted to go to Watson’s for lunch, so we did, though we didn’t eat. She wanted to go to the cemetery to see Ben, but I told her it was too hard for me and that I couldn’t do it. So we didn’t. She didn’t tell me that everything would be okay. She didn’t tell me what Heaven was like. She didn’t tell me that she was happy now or not in pain anymore. She just told me she loved me. In her own voice. The voice I remember hearing so clearly every day for the first 16 years of my life.

I remember staring at her face, a face that I have not seen SO VIVIDLY since that horrible day in June 2003. Every tiny little detail was there. It was her. It was so real. It was real.

Then she laughed her perfect laugh.

And held me.

I was finally encased in her love again.

And it was perfect.

The next day, I woke up in the most amazing and perfect mood, which lasted throughout the entire day.

Thank you Mom (and God). I needed that more than I could ever describe.

So that’s why I’m taking this public. As trite as it sounds, I feel like maybe she wants me to do this. I’m finally at a point where I want to share my story (baby steps), and I want to hear yours, too. So many people close to me have lost loved ones, and I would love to offer this soapbox of sorts.

Coming soon: a post from my sister!

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