Running On Memories

I have always believed that no matter how long a person is in your life, whether a short time or a life long friend, that each and every person is meant to be there. Each person we meet fits like a puzzle piece into our lives. Take that piece away then there is an empty space. Friendships grow, change, evolve and sometimes lose their way. I have been fortunate to have many amazing women in my life. Some have passed through while others have remained for years. Some friends I have gone years without actually seeing yet that doesn't change the feelings I hold for them. There are new friendships I have formed that have evolved and become strong and vital to me. I am thankful for each and every single one as every person is as unique as the friendship they bring.

Last week I was scrolling through Facebook feed as usual. There it was on her page: "RIP, you will be missed." I instantly felt numb, sick, and sadness washed over me. I jumped to her page and started reading a couple of comments which confirmed my inner fear. She had passed away. I found out on the day she was buried. This burned me even more as I would have been there to send her off in peace. To tell her one last time that I missed her. To let her know that I loved her and no amount of time that separated us would change that.

We grew apart somewhere around 2011. There was no falling out or ugly argument. Both our lives started moving in other directions. We would send one another the concessional "I miss you" either by text or via one another Facebook page yet never get together again. The news of her passing hit me and had me searching for answers. I am not sure what exactly I was looking for. Maybe peace; for her and for me. What I found instead were several conversations on her FB page that she and I exchanged, runs that brought me to tears, and dreams where she lingered. She was gone. That final message on her Facebook wall we exchanged on July 12th, 2012 would be our last. Four years and one day to the day she passed she passed away.

This isn't my grief though. My heart aches as her friend and the friendship we had formed long ago. What pains me the most is that she was not just a woman, not just a friend, but she was a mother. Left behind are children who won't have their mom to call anymore. A daughter who won't be able to have her mother braid her hair, paint her nails, kiss her tears away or go wedding dress shopping with. Left behind are son's who will no longer share the excitement of their day, her arms wrap around them, and hear her voice tell stories of her childhood. It's their sadness that penetrates within me. 

All those little things we take for granted every day, they matter. That is what I kept going back to on my runs each morning. The simple things are really the things that matter most to our children: brushing their hair, washing their hands, and putting them to bed. Singing songs, reading books and belly laughs. Cleaning dirty finger prints off the doors and windows. Wiping boogers and butts and holding them close while they are sick. Getting them ready for their first day of school or sending them off to camp. Many are small tasks we sometimes grumble over. Small yes, but so very important to a child. Each and every interaction we have with our children helps to shape them and they remember the littlest things. Things which we may not realize are so big to them. 

Tears greeted my face a few times as my feet hit the pavement last week. I felt a heaviness in me that was all too familiar and unwelcome. I have never been good at handling my own emotions when it comes to death. I have lost people close to me over the years and one thing I have learned is that grief takes form in many ways and the pain of losing a loved one never truly goes away. All the while my runs were filled with prayer, asking God and her to watch over those children and leave them with only happy memories. There were also prayers of selfishness asking God never to take me from mine. The very thought of it brings me to tears and terrifies me. I want to be able to share and become better at savoring each and every moment. Even all those little ones. The silent ones. They all matter, each and every one. 

Her death reminded me not only of the beautiful person I remember, the one who loved babies and dogs, it also reminded me just how we never know what each day brings. We are not promised tomorrow. There is no guarantee you and I will speak in the morning or even next week. So maybe we all need to be better about telling those we love how much we love them. Send a card, pick up the phone, or make that time to see them. Most importantly, if you have kids, hug them tight. Tell them you love them every chance you get. If they ask to snuggle, then stop what you are doing and snuggle. Those hugs your kids give you, hold on tight when they do. Those dirty little fingers on your glass door that you want to Windex away, maybe just leave them there a little longer. Someday these moments will all seem so far away. Let's not wish we would have made the time for all the amazing small moments. I hope I can be better about creating more and living in them. This life is a gift, always live it with a grateful heart. Most importantly: Always say I love you! 


"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people stay for awhile, and move our souls to dance. They awaken us to a new understanding, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same." ~ Flavia Weedn

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What I Fear The Most

I wonder if they will remember the walks we took while talking about the farm and the cows. Will they remember cooking with me in the kitchen and making our signature energy balls that we renamed "Yummy Balls"? Maybe the memories will not be moments but the smell of Christmas trees. Reminding them how we went to go cut down our tree each and every year; trudging through snow while mama was the one to pick out the perfect tree that we would take home. It could be the sound of waves splashing bringing them back to the summers when we would go to the ocean. The walks we would take hand in hand on the beach looking for "treasures".

Will they remember how they loved the animals in our house and how forgiving each pet was to tiny hands grabbing at tails and those little feet using them as a step stool? What about the time we went to adopt our cat and he was given the name "Horsey"? A name that was decided on weeks before we had ever met the big, black cat not knowing how fitting his name would be.

What about when when Chase fell on our walk and hurt his knee? I scooped him up and carried him, even though I was carrying his brother on my back. Will they recall they countless times I wiped away tears from their face even when it was nothing more than the wrong fork that was given to them?

Then there are the nights that we lay there in bed with them wishing them to sleep. Will they remember the way we held them close and whispered stories and shared laughter long after they should have been asleep? The moments when they were sick and we held them close and promised they would be better soon as we fought back our own tears because it broke our hearts that we couldn't magically make them better.

I think of these things often as I am laying in bed and I can hear the breathing of my youngest, Wesley, as he sleeps next to me. I think of these things when it is the middle of the night. I think of these things when I go into Chase's room to kiss him one more time; for the third or fourth time. These thoughts dance around in my mind even as I go for a run. I never seem to escape the presence of my children. They are with me, within me, even when I am apart from them. I think about how lucky I am. How incredible this gift of life is. I feel my heart tighten at the brief thought of never seeing them again.

What would I leave behind for my children to hold on to?

Which moments will have become a part of their treasure chest of memories we created together?

Most importantly...

Will they be able to always feel my love?

Love: That raging fire that lives within me because of them. That light that shines in my soul because they chose me to be their mother. The joy that they bring, knowing without a doubt, they are the one thing that I have done right.

I think these things often.

Death, it is what I fear the most. I have always feared death and the unknown. I believe in an afterlife, I believe in God. Yet those things have never comforted me when I think about dying. When I allow myself to go to that place I feel anxiety and terror. I feel as though someone is squeezing my heart. Tears well up in my eyes and I have to take a moment to breathe.

This fear has gotten worse since having children. I want to be able to watch them grow. I want to see my children through all their milestones. I want to be there, not just for today, but for all the days of their lives. To see their first football game, their first date, prom, marriage, and watch them become fathers some day.

The unknown is terrifying to me. Not being with my children scares me even more.

What if I had to leave them behind...what would they remember about me? What moments would they hold on to?

Life is short. Life is precious. Life is a gift. 

When I go to this place it is a reminder that I need to make each moment count. Every second must be looked at as a treasure. It is a reminder to slow down. It is a gentle hand on my shoulder pulling me back, whispering to be in this moment, right now!

As I am writing this I glance over and see them playing together and I am consumed by the love I have for them. How was it possible that I created these two amazing creatures? How is it possible that each day I love them even more?

I do not know what tomorrow will bring. I do not know where life will take us in another year or ten. What I do know is that I do have some control over what happens right now. I must remember:

Make each moment count!
  


Thank you for stopping by! What are some of your fears? 

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The Glass Jar : A Journey through our Moments

Last March I wrote a post titled The Glass Jar. The concept is all over Pinterest and Facebook. Some refer to it as the happiness jar. The first time around I failed miserably. I had intended to make use of the jar and it turned out over the course of a year I only found six things to drop in. Of coarse there was more than six things to be happy about. In 2014 I made more of an effort with the jar. This time around I kept it in my bedroom instead of on a shelf in the kitchen. It sat right on my bureau where I was forced to look at it every day.

New Years Day we decided to open up our jar and take a journey through the happy moments we had collected through the year. I am proud to say that I had a nice pile to dump out. Champagne was poured and Chase was leaning on the ottoman eager for me to read our "moments". We recorded things from Wesley getting his first tooth to Chase playing soccer. There was how we went strawberry picking, took a family vacation to Old Orchard Beach, and how mama did her first Half Marathon. The things I wrote down were happy. Some were funny. They were "firsts". They were moments. Some big, others small. Each one having a special meaning to us as a family.

I felt emotional reading some of them. I could feel tears burning in my eyes as I read how Chase made Wesley belly laugh as I listened from another room. It's those moments that you will never get back. The fleeting feelings that grab a hold of your heart and squeeze. Squeezing so tight that you have to take a moment to breathe. Suddenly you are there again, in that moment.

The glass jar had become more sacred to me than I ever intended it to be. We even talked about other moments through the year that were fun or memorable that we forgot to put in the jar. I was able to jot them down on paper and add those to our pile. Something so simple became a powerful new tradition for our family. In my first post about the glass jar I wrote: "I want to be sure to celebrate these moments and look back on them with a smile and a full heart". This is exactly what we did on New Years Day while reading through the contents of the glass jar. We smiled, we laughed, and my heart felt full of love and happiness.

It all is much more than the glass jar. I know that life moves quickly. I wish I could freeze time or even just slow it down to relish every memory with my boys. I don't want to forget the sound of their laughter, the feel of their hands grabbing at me, or the embrace of their hugs. Moments rush by leaving their impressions on everything around us. It rains, it snows and  the sun comes out again. We love, we cry, we laugh and we grow. Time passes. We mistakenly forget about those events and people that brought us to where we are. I like that we can be reminded in this simple way. Years from now I will be able to look back on these notes and be brought back to each of these moments. The glass jar holds pieces of our hearts; paper treasures to look back on.

Moments

It's Saturday night and I am sitting here with a glass of wine. To my right is Chase playing in his "living sand" and to my left Jay is trying to get down our almost 8 month old (tomorrow he is 8 months). The sun is shining through the windows. I hear the sound of Chase playing make believe (a sound I have fallen in love with), I hear the sound of music coming from Wesley's swing, and I take a deep breath, I feel so at home right now in this moment. I can sit here, take a moment to write (which I love) and also be in the surroundings of those I love. Things feel right. Things feel good. I feel happy. No, it's not just the wine talking. Give me some credit here, I have only gotten down half of my glass, not slurring my words just yet.

I received a phone call this week from a dear friend who is sitting with her partner right while he is in the hospital after undergoing an Aorta Valve replacement. My friend and her husband are very close. It's been a long couple of days for her and my heart aches thinking of what she is going through. These are two people who adore one another. You look at them and can tell. They are friends, lovers, partners, and a team. I stop to reflect how it would feel to be in her place and just the thought of it alone makes my heart hurt.

Life is fragile. It is beautiful and amazing just as it can be trying and ugly. Each second is a gift. Every moment a miracle. Some days and moments seeing the gift in it may be difficult. Maybe almost impossible. It may be hard to feel the joy in each day. It's there. In each thing we see, in all we do, in people we meet. There is joy, there is love, there is happiness.

It's in these moments we need to stop and live in the moment. Enjoy it. Hold on to it.

It is so easy to take life for granted. I do it. We all do it.

So tonight try to live in the moment as long as you can. Hug those close to you a little tighter. Kiss them a little longer. Always be sure to say those three magic words.

Cheers!

The Glass Jar

A year ago I saw this clever thing on Pinterest that I wanted to try. So I did! The idea was to take a mason jar and fill it with happy moments and good things that happen through the year. Then on New Years Eve, take them out and read over all those things that had happened. I loved this idea and committed to doing it. In the end I wanted to take those moments and make a scrap book out of them.

A year passed, 2014 rolled in, and I was possibly, with out doubt, too intoxicated to remember the damn jar. It wasn't until last week I opened it up and looked through it. I had decided to not just make them happy thing but also funny things. I even used funky scissors to cut the paper and had little pieces ready to write on. It made me smile to read a few of them. Yet truth be told I was disappointed in the number of moments counted. I feel I forgot about this jar more than I used it.

I have decided that I am going to give it another try. I will move the jar from the shelf it sat on to a new place. I haven't figured exactly where just yet but if I see it everyday then maybe that will help. I think adding the funny moments is another flare to this jar. Laughter is very important to me. There is not a sound I love more than hearing my children laugh. (Wesley just started belly laughs! It just makes me smile!)

I want to to be more aware of all the happy things that happen. I want to be sure to celebrate these moments and look back on them with a smile and a full heart. Then if I can put these in a scrap book I will be able to hand down these memories to my children. I want them to know just how much I treasured each one.

Just reading the picture above brings me back to how I felt in that moment. This is what the Glass Jar is all about. Reliving those special moments that pass by. To feel them again, to never forget them. To pass on a memory.