My mom died yesterday.
When I asked what life without her might look like last December I was prepared to let her go.
I wasn't yesterday.
Brian and I planed a funeral over texting, as neither could talk on the phone without losing it. Last night I called what seemed half of her church and my dad's extended family with the funeral details.
Next step? Keep it together, think about how and when to tell Ben, figure out what the kids can wear, get summer grades posted, go by school to move some stuff so I can snag a decent cubicle for my year of traveling classrooms before the new people show up this week, haircuts for the kids, mow the grass at the old house, run anywhere as fast as I can once the kids are in bed.
Keep busy and really not think about this until I actually can say that the one thing I have dreaded/anticipated/guiltily wished for, outloud without wanting to puke.
I hope you are happy, talking up the last ten missing years with my dad, in a good place with no pain. It was not the ending I had braced myself for, but an ending all the same.
Damn. Not Expected. Not Ready. Messy. Released? Can I get a re-do on that last rushed Sunday night phoned-in conversation? This is where one story ends and another begins.
Know that I hope I made you proud as a mom to Ben and Ian and that truly loved you for my 36 years.
Marilyn Hall Jobe Hendricks 6/20/49-8/8/11
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