Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Three Years.

I held onto her. I held on so tight. I wedged my arms up under hers and whispered to her, "It will be ok, you need to go now. You need to go the hospital, please let them take you. We will watch over him, it will all be ok." She couldn't control anything anymore. She submitted to my Stepfather, letting him carry her like a baby out the door, through the hall, to his truck. She let go, holding on enough to make it through one more night. She was so scared, so confused. So fragile. "We will watch over him, it will all be ok." It was all I could do to convince myself that it would be.

Her heart was literally ripping apart.

Our hearts were breaking alongside hers.

I needed her to hold on just one more month.

She passed away barely one month before Lillie's birth.

The grief still takes my breath away and shakes me.

 I think it hurts more sometimes knowing what Lillie doesn't have versus what she could have had.

I try not to think about Lo playing peek a boo with her, tickling her toes when he unearthed them from her blankets.
I try not to think about how when I was overwhelmed with Lo's colic, how angry I would get when she could soothe him and make the screaming stop whereas I couldn't.

I try not to think about the fact that three years ago today, she was conscious enough to recognize me and Lo and reached out to rub his sweet baby feet, mere inches from the Great Granddaughter she would never know.

I do try to think about how hard she fought to stay long enough to see all of her children one last time, even if she wasn't physically awake.
I do try to think about how she pulled one on my Grandfather by enjoying every last second of her life flight to Atlanta. She had always wanted to fly in a helicopter.

I do try to think about how she would talk to me for what seemed like hours before I would fly overseas.
I do try and remember her face and everything she said to me.

"Jesus loved the little children, all the little children of the world... Bless your heart... He doesn't give you more than you can handle, so pray."

And so I do. I do pray. I pray every spare second. I pray when I'm scared. I pray when I'm overjoyed, frustrated, lost. I pray that there really is a heaven and that she's in it, waiting for me, for all of us, because I can't bear the thought of never having another hug.

Christmas was her very favorite Holiday.


  1. Love. What a beautiful tribute. You've made her proud.

  2. Thanks ma'am, that means a lot coming from you. :) Hope you're enjoying your Holidays!!!

  3. Oh {{HUGS}} This post brought tears to my eyes. My grandmother is not doing well... she was in the hospital right before Thanksgiving. Thankfully, my children went up north to see their father for Thanksgiving and my mom was able to get them over to see her... she wasn't seeing anyone really, but she made sure to see my kids. My sister has planned a last minute trip to see her but I cannot go... we are so far away. Yesterday my cousin posted pictures of her with my cousin's new puppy on facebook and it brought me to my knees. We are losing her and I don't know how my family will recover... even though she is 87 and we see it coming... she is our glue.

  4. Hey Mama, I will say this. Though the pain of losing someone so integral to the family never gets any less painful, it DOES get easier. I hate that I can even say that, but it does. It's moments like when I realize my son doesn't remember her anymore, that the pain feels new again. My Mammaw was our glue. My heart is with you.

  5. I've just happened across this post and couldn't stop reading. My Mum passed away nearly five years ago and since then I have had 2 beautiful children. Each day my heart aches thinking about what she is missing out on :( My eldest, Sophie talks about Grandma Susie even though she never knew her because I talk about her all of the time. In a way I feel as though it keeps her alive, silly I know.

    I wholeheartedly agree that although you never get over such a tragic loss it does get easier. The time between those heartbreaking moments grows. I have to remind myself that I am the Mummy now and no matter how much I long to be that little girl sitting in my Mummy's arms life has moved on.

    So, thank you for a lovely post :) xx

  6. I'm glad you found me. :) I'm sorry you've lost your Mom, I can't even imagine. Feel as if I called it close with my Dad this week (see my more recent post), but he's still here. Hopefully long enough to see my kids grow old, but as awful as it sounds, that doesn't look good as of right now. I will always miss my Mammaw. Always. I still have a makeup compact of hers that smells like her. All I have to do is open it up and there she is, through scent at least. My Mom does the same thing with one of her jackets. It's so hard.

    I try and keep her alive through my kids as we live with my Grandfather. There's plenty of memories here to talk about. She used to take me out to climb trees, she sang hymns in the kitchen as she cooked, her throw blanket still warms everyone from her couch. It's the little things. Again, I appreciate you finding me. :)


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