Growing up, I remember Mom "sponsored" a less fortunate child in a third world country. Remember those commercials - a host with a soothing voice showing heart-wrenching photos of hungry children with the familiar plea of "for less than a dollar a day, you can save a child's life." It was the 90s version of the SPCA commercials set against Sarah McLaughlin's "Arms Of An Angel." How could one resist?
I don't remember how long we sponsored this child. Realistically, it probably wasn't for very long. But I remember getting photographs of the little girl, and I remember feeling a sense of charity that made me feel good (even though, as a child, it obviously wasn't my money going to support this girl).
Although I'm officially a "grown-up" now, I'm not in a place financially where I can afford $30/mo to support those less-fortunate than I am. That's why I'm so interested in the mission behind Light Gives Heat. They have an amazing mission, AND they are actually creating jobs in these less-fortunate countries. Their mission is simple: Empowering Africans through the encouragement of economic sustainability
and creative endeavors. Motivating people in the west to "be the change
they want to see in the world."
PLUS. The product they create is beautiful!
I first heard of Light Gives Heat when I received a beautiful necklace as a Christmas present. Since then, I've bought something every year as a gift for someone. It's beautiful AND it all goes back to a great cause. I love that there's a story behind each piece, and included is the story of the woman who MADE the piece as well.
I may not be able to afford much in the ways of charity and giving back (yet), but with Light Gives Heat , I can buy something practical AND charitable. Check out the full story at www.lightgiveheat.org
This morning, for the first time since I was 8 years old, I woke up and Mr. Bevo was not around.
I've had about a week to "prepare" for this. I'm exhausted from crying, and I feel like there are no liquids left in my body. He and I were alone in my apartment. I was right next to him, with him, as he took his final breath. Sister and Dad came over shortly after. We wrapped him in a burnt orange pillow case.
He's with Mom now, and that thought is what's keeping me together. I know she's so excited to see him again.
No kitty was ever more loved.
"When you are sorrowful, look again into your heart and you shall see that, in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight." -Kahlil Gibran
This isn't something I have to imagine that my mother would love. I know that she read it. I know that she loved it. In fact, when my sister turned 17 years old, she gave her a small copy to keep in her wallet at all times. When I turned 17 (the first birthday without my mom), my sister gave it to me, and it has been in my wallet ever since.
When I was in London, on the 5th anniversary of her death, I visited St. Paul's Cathedral (read the blog post here). In the gift shop, I was surprised to find a copy of the Desiderata. I bought it and mailed it to my sister that day.
This passage is so meaningful to me. Every time I read it, I find another gem that is particularly meaningful for whatever reason.
My favorites are: - Go placidly amid the noise and haste and remember what peace there may be in silence. - You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. -Be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be... -With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.
My beloved Bevo. It's a hard subject for me to talk about sometimes. I love him so much I feel like I'm going to burst. He's about 17 years old now, though I don't think any of us know exactly how old he is. He's been with me through everything. Besides my freshman dorm and the sorority house, he's lived with me every single place I have lived since I was 3 years old (granted, he didn't come into my life until I was about 8 or so). Sherman, Alabama, Denison, Dallas, Austin, then Dallas again. He's been everywhere.
Isn't that crazy? He's been in my life since I was EIGHT (about) years old. I am now TWENTY FIVE years old. He is my constant. He's been in my life longer than my mother was. He lives with me now, in the 500 square foot efficiency apartment where I live by myself. My once FAT little cat now has a thyroid issue that requires me to give him two pills a day to help him gain weight. The condition also makes him EXTRA vocal, which is sometimes hard to deal with at 4am.
I was snuggling with him, giving him kisses, smelling him, and telling him how much I love him. I love the way he smells. I realized I need to write about him. About how it is now. Right now. For the past several years (even since 2005), I've been trying to prepare myself for what is bound to happen. Eventually. I just can't talk about it. I can't think about it. I can't.
I know it seems a little crazy, but I know he loves me unconditionally as well. We will actually sleep side-by-side sometimes, his little paw on top of my hand, all night, even without my provocation. It makes my heart melt every single time.
For now, I want to love him every day. Cherish him. The little white clover-shape on his black face. His little beauty mark on the left side of his nose. And I love knowing that mom once loved him too. Mom once petted him, fed him, called his name, told him she loved him.
I remember when I pulled him from the bushes of 2309 Ridgewood in Sherman, TX. He was a black and white puff ball covered in burrs.
"Mommy, can we keep him?"
"YES OF COURSE WE CAN"
As we cleaned him off, still then a normal little baby kitten, I had no idea what an impact he would be in my life.
Beaver Jones, I love you so much, you smell amazing :) You have always been there for me, and I don't know what I'll do without you.
This post actually interrupted me watching a Ryan Gosling movie, and I can't seem to bring myself to start watching it again. We have to cherish what we have, especially when we have it. So, for now, Ryan Gosling can wait. I need to snuggle with my Bevo.
I've been struggling with my weight more than usual lately. My entire life, it's always been the only thing I could ever think about, and now, it occupies my mind even more than I thought possible.
Since I moved to my new apartment and started living by myself just about a year ago, I've gained a ridiculous amount of weight. Maybe partly because of the freedom of it all. Maybe partly because Raising Cane's is just too freaking delicious for me to say "no" to. Either way, I can't help but wonder what my mother would think of my weight. As someone who struggled with her weight her entire life and was at an incredibly unhealthy weight when she died, I can't help but think that she wouldn't want a different life for her daughter.
I'm hoping this mindset will give me the strength to persevere through this daunting weight loss. My mother would want me to be healthy, and I'm hoping to accomplish that.
There are so many things that go through my mind that I think I should post about..
- Thanksgiving 2010 (which was almost 8 months ago now) Thanksgiving 2010 was amazing, and filled with family as usual, but this year, my aunt (Mom's sister) and cousin from Virginia came to celebrate, as well as my aunt (Mom's half-sister) from California. It made me think about the things that are only possible once someone passes away...
- Helping my sister move back to Texas and the drive from California
- Midnight in Paris. Maybe it's because I LOVED this movie so much, that I really thought she would love it, too. My sister paused when I told her this, and it made me wonder if I'm not just fantasizing some of these things that I think she would love.. it's been so long now. I was a completely different person in 2003 than I am now. I was only 16..
- 8 years is a long time. Sometimes I am overcome with emotion at the fact that, it's been a long time since I've seen my mom. Since I've heard her voice. Since I've felt her embrace. And it's only going to become a longer amount of time. I become short of breath when I think about the fact that, one day, it will be ten years. Another day, it will be twenty years. It's too much to think about...
- This evening, I made her delicious chicken and rice casserole (with too much cheese, just like she used to make it), and listened to a Pandora station of Tom Petty, the Eagles, the Beatles, and Van Morrison.
I'm sitting here, glued to my TV (I've had to watch my Royal Wedding coverage in segments), and I can't help but think how much Mom would LOVE this. They're calling this wedding the first royal wedding of the social media age, which is appropriate considering the hash tags and live tweets scrolling across the bottom of the screen. With 5,000 tweets per minute, I have no doubt that Mom would be live tweeting with the rest of them!
I love watching the pomp and circumstance, and the idea of the romance and the fairy tale aspect is inescapable. Westminster Abbey is one of my favorite places in the entire world (as it was for Mom, too), and all the images of London don't hurt either.
I love the red carpet on either side of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, too.
In the hallway of our house, there was this epic framed picture of my sister as a toddler, standing at the edge of my grandmother's driveway, watching her drive away. It was a precious picture. When my sister was 17, the three of us drove to my grandmother's old house and recreated the picture. Sister was 17 and had MUCH attitude about the whole thing, but I remember thinking it was a really cool idea.
I know my mom would've loved the idea, and it might've even inspired a creative field trip for more recreation pictures. I think I would've loved that, too.
So, as you may or may not know, I currently work at an Apple Store. I love it, and recently, The Beatles were released on iTunes! When I went into work the next day, I was greeted by life-size cut outs of John, Paul, George, and Ringo (of which I prompty took several pictures with, of course).
I already have all of the Beatles music (as Mom did, and would have if she were around to share in my excitement), but I'm still enjoying geeking out every day at work when I see our Beatles branded gift cards and listening to Beatles music streaming constantly throughout the store. Even our name tags are Beatles themed!
A few months ago (I know, I'm really behind on some entries), I drew myself a hot bubble bath, set my computer up on the sink across from my giant tub, soaked, and watched 84 Charing Cross Road.
I had never seen it before, but throughout the whole movie, I couldn't help but think how much of a Mom Movie it was. I'm sure she saw it. It's too perfect. A writer. A book-lover. A cross-continental pen pal relationship.
Tomorrow is my 24th birthday. It will be my 8th birthday without my mom.
From time to time, people ask me if it still hurts.
Yes.
Of course.
Time "helps," but I miss her and think about her every single day. Some days are worse than others. I have broken down and cried at gas stations, inside the box office of the movie theater where I used to work, in the car, in the shower, in the empty lot that used to be the house where I grew up, at the cemetery, in my grandmother's arms, at an Eagles concert, in my room, on airplanes.
Today I completely lost it inside a tanning bed. That was a new one..
Sometimes it's songs that trigger it (I still have not listened to "Whiter Shade of Pale" in its entirety since her funeral, and once had to leave a grocery store in the middle of shopping when it came on to avoid making a scene). Sometimes I see women who look JUST like her. Other times I just get caught up in the fact that I am a completely different person now than I was when I was 16 years old. I wonder if she'd even like the person I've become, and how it might be different if she had been there to be more of an influence (either good or bad).
Thank you, Mom, for bringing me into this world. I love you and miss you every single day.
Today, my mom would have turned 58 years old. I wonder if, right this minute, instead of writing this, I could be driving to Denison to meet her for dinner and to spend a weekend at home. I wonder if we would have a strawberry cake from Kathleen’s Kitchen. I wonder what things we would talk about at dinner—probably things that had happened in the last week, year, all fictional history of the past 7 years… Maybe we would reminisce that it has already been almost a year since my graduation, and we would laugh about things that, in this reality, did not actually happen. I wonder what I would have gotten her for her birthday, and for Mother’s Day, a mere two days later. We would have gone to church on Sunday for Mother’s Day (a tradition I still carry, only now alone), except I would wear a red flower on my chest instead of a white one.
This weekend I will have a Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper from Sonic in your honor. I will listen to songs on repeat until I drive those around me insane. I will play Backgammon. I will dance and sing without inhibition. I will roll the windows down in the car that you bought me, and I will drive without destination...Into the Mystic.
It’s no secret that my mom loved music. Once she fell in love with a song, she would play it on repeat for DAYS. My sister and I still can’t listen to “Truly, Madly, Deeply” by Savage Garden without having vivid flashbacks of wanting to rip out our eardrums.
Sister and I joke about it now, saying that we’ve “pulled a Mom” if we find a song that we just cannot get enough of. This happened to me recently, and more excessively than it ever has before. Of course there have been other contenders to rival my current song obsession, but none other comes close to Michael Buble’s “Everything.”
According to iTunes, I have played this song almost 1500 times since February. That’s an average of 17 times A DAY. Granted, a significant portion of this statistic is from when I would put it on repeat on my iPod at work, and it eventually just became background noise, but I doubt that makes it acceptable.
I think Mom would’ve loved the way Michael Buble croons with his irresistible lounge-singer voice.
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?
Well.
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.
One of my favorite things to do in Austin is go to the Alamo Drafthouse. It isn't just a movie theater. It's an experience. It's food, drinks, midnight showings of Harry Potter and Twilight, singalongs, quote-alongs, dance-alongs. It is some of the best nights of my college life--spent singing at the top of my lungs to the Spice Girls at the Pop Princess Singalong or dancing on stage to Thriller at the Michael Jackson memorial singalong. It's sharing a pitcher of their famous sangria with best friends.
I've been going back to Austin a lot this summer, which I have jokingly referred to as my endless summer of unemployment. I plan to go back to Austin yet again in just a few days, so I've obviously been stalking the Drafthouse calendar for sometime now. Today I noticed that they are having a Beatles singalong, and I know that I must attend. Mom loved the Beatles (which I'm sure you've noticed by now with the Across the Universe and Abbey Road posts). I remember her telling me stories about her listening to the White Album and to "Why Don't We Do it in the Road" in her room as at 16 years old (and how much my grandma disapproved of the song).
Mom loved movies, too. I know she would love the Drafthouse. I never really thought about "going downtown" or anything like that with my mom, and maybe it wouldn't have been any fun at all, but when someone dies, you tend to imagine everything much more positively than realistically, and although I can't actually imagine dancing and singing with my mom in a drafthouse setting, I would like to think that maybe it would have been possible.
Death is hard to talk about. It's scary, awkward and uncomfortable. I know. But, if someone close to you is dealing with losing someone, please, get over yourself. They will never remember how awkward it was. They will only remember that you were there.
I will never forget how appallingly I was treated by my friends after my mom died. I know we were only 16, but even teenagers should know common human decency. My sister, who was 22 at the time, had friends driving and flying in from all over the country, and I couldn't even get anyone in the same zip code to return my phone calls.
Thank you to the two friends who did attend my mom's funeral. It was too hard for me to talk to you, but I still remember it, and it meant a lot to me.
Note: this picture was taken my Freshman year in college for a Photography class I was taking. I don't exactly remember the assignment, but it was somehow appropriate. I also later used this picture, along with some other things, to gain entrance into the Texas Creative sequence. I know it's kind of dramatic, but I really love this picture.
I don't even know how to describe this. It is something so personal, so completely irreplaceable. My sister is the only person I've ever shared it's existence with, and I'm not even sure if she's seen it with her own eyes.
This was written in my day planner from 2003. I don't remember if I found it quickly after her death, or if years had passed, but regardless...
For as long as I can remember, my mom, sister and I have written each other little secret notes in the other's planner or notebook. We would snatch it up while the other was in a different room, flip to a random page, and write something, some little token of affection, or just a simple "so-and-so was here." Written in the space for July 11, 2003, the day she died, is a simple "I love you! Mom" in her gorgeous, unmistakable, familiar handwriting.
It freaked me out beyond words the first time I found it. I mean, WHAT ARE THE CHANCES? I actually threw the book across the room and refused to go near it for a while. It still sort of creeps me out, but my sister insists that it is beautiful. I have to agree that it is so remarkable, and because I feel as though I must save every thing she ever touched, I will never get rid of this little token.
Maybe I'm putting too much emphasis on online things, but blogging has changed so much since 2003, and my mom loved being online, so I tend to focus on that subject a lot. 1001 Rules For My Unborn Son gives me hope for future generations of men, and it makes me wonder if she would've had a conversation with me about characteristics that make a good man, how to tell the difference, and how I deserve to be treated.
If you have a story of something a lost loved one would love, feel free to send it my way. I'm not sure what this project is yet, but I would love for it to grow.
