Eight Months

It's Wednesday.

Again.

I still hate Wednesdays.

I have purposely stopped counting the weeks ... well, sort of.  I do try not to keep a running count, but somehow I still do.

But not only is today Wednesday ... another week added to the time she's been gone ... it's also the 21st.

Eight months.

Seems like 80 years.

I miss her.  So much.

It still hurts.  My heart is still raw.

I still find myself picking up the phone to call her.  Just this past week I picked up the phone to call Mary, but instead I dialed her number.  I was already crying when I picked up the phone, and once I realized what I had done I sobbed.

Hard, gut wrenching sobs.

On the way to the dentist today, my mother-in-law drove passed the funeral home.  I had a rolodex of memories begin flooding through my mind, and my stomach pain increased.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  The first without her.

I don't want to do this.  I don't want to sit around my dining room table eating turkey and dressing without her.

Nothing about this year will be the same.

Nothing.  It will never be the same again.

I've been working on our Christmas card this week, and as I've waded through photos over the past year her picture is everywhere.

It just makes me miss her all the more.

I miss her voice.  I miss hearing her say my name and asking me what I was doing when I answered the phone.  I miss all her nosey questions, and her unsolicited advice.

I miss the way her perfume smelled on her.  I can't stand the smell of it in the bottle, but somehow it always smelled so clean and beautiful when she wore it.

I am fearful of forgetting what her voice sounded like or the way she smelled.

I know this is supposed to be a season of Thanksgiving, and I really do have tons to be thankful for.

It's just so hard to see it through tears.

I had no idea last year would be the last Thanksgiving my mom would be alive. I missed spending it with her because I had a horrible stomach virus.

But I'll never forget the laughter my girls had while telling me about playing a game with her.

I am grateful they have that memory.  I am so grateful laughter comes when they talk about her.

How precious are those memories.  What a gift they've been given.

A gift we've all been given.  Somehow even through tears Sara and Hannah can make me laugh when talking about her.

I still don't understand how laughter can come from the raw brokenness of a heart, but I am so grateful for the grace the Lord gives us to allow it to happen.

And I am grateful we have one more year to spend with my dad.  I pray this isn't the last year.  I hope to have at least twenty more with him.

Well, truthfully, I hope Jesus comes back before then.  But I don't want to loose him before then.

Wouldn't it be great if He returned before the sun rises today?