eight month confessions

~ I still have my mom as my first phone contact. Sometimes I read her name, sometimes not.
~ I have a bunch of saved text messages from her on my phone. When I feel severely masochistic, I read them. I like remembering that we used to text almost everyday.
~ When I go up to "the house" in Layton, sometimes, I catch myself listening to hear her come up the stairs from the basement or in from the backyard or out of her room. Then, I catch myself and shake my head and give a sad smile.
~ I have cried more than once unloading the dishwasher at both my house and her house-- there's just something about dishes that gets to me.
~ I really, really dislike the hymn, "O My Father" now There's that verse that says, "In heaven are parents single? No. The thought makes reason stare. Truth is reason, truth eternal tells me I've a mother there." Yes, I know I'm understanding it out of context, BUT I believe I am entitled to think of my earthly mother. I've taken this song off my Sunday song list on the iPod. I change the station if it comes on the Sunday song radio stations (this is Utah where we have 2 radio stations that play
LDS church music all day Sunday)
~ When I doing things I think she should be there for (ie doing Tara's makeup and hair for her senior prom or playing with my niece at her 2nd birthday party), I like to imagine that she is standing there with us.
~ Sometimes I purposefully ignore looking at the pictures I have of her on my dresser or other places around my house. I've gotten good an seeing them without actually looking at them.
~ About once a week as I'm falling asleep I remember moments from that last week of her life as if they happened only minutes ago and all the feelings are as fresh as they were in those moments. I've begun to think about the phrase, "And Mary kept these things and pondered them in her heart." There are moments that are only captured in your heart. Even if there was a picture of that moment, it would be insufficient to fully preserve certain memories, but in the heart, every little details is held in perfect recollection. The moment we were told she only had 2 weeks to live. The few minutes when all my siblings sat on her bed and she told us goodbye as a group and individually. Those hours when we were all surrounding her bed waiting for the last breath. That awful moment when she sighed her last breath and was perfectly still.  The couple of hours when we waited for the mortuary people to come and she was just laying there, but not really there. Standing in the relief society room as the lid to the coffin was closed. Walking into the chapel for the funeral as everyone silently stood and watched my family walk in. Listening to my brother cry as he dedicated the grave. Driving away from the cemetery, leaving her there all alone. Usually, I get one of these memories at a time and which ever one it is that day, has the power to take my breath away, even now. Even eight months later.
~ Sometimes, there is only person in the world I wish I could talk to. I just want to hear her laugh and have her say, "I love you, my sweet girl".

At some point, this has to get easier. At least, I've learned the just ride the wave of emotion until it subsides and I've learned to keep the wave back until I can just cry it all out. Next week is my Dad's birthday. Then, seven days later, my youngest sister turn 18. Then, eight days later is Mother's Day. I just have to get through the next two weeks and the worst day of the year so far will be behind us. After that, we'll get through Memorial Day (her headstone is supposed to be in place for that) and we'll have a break from "hard" days until we hit the year anniversary.