Tag: Loss

The Empty Desk

With all the hustle and bustle of the last few weeks with school starting back, it’s easy to forget what isn’t directly impacting our own lives. But there’s one thing I’d like us to remember.

For the last 17 years, my life has been all about my children, my children’s lives. I wish that I could tell you that I cherished every minute of my children’s childhood. That I made the most of every second that I was given. That I hugged them, kissed them, and loved them every chance I got. That I tried my hardest to be the best person I could possibly be for them.

That I showed them, rather than told them, what kind of person they should be, and what kind of person they could be. I wish I could tell you that I was never selfish, that I always put them, their needs, wants and desires ahead of my own. That I protected their curious, innocent, fragile eyes from things that would scare them, hurt them, haunt them, scar them or blind them. That I took a scary, cruel, sometimes ugly world and painted it for them with all things safe, sweet and beautiful, until I was sure they were strong enough to see it for what it is.

I wish I could tell you that I have no regrets, that I wouldn’t change a thing. That I wouldn’t want anything any other way. That I didn’t take one second, didn’t take one single thing, for granted. I wish I could tell you that I know in my heart that I did my job and that my job was done to the best of my ability.

But I can’t.

What I can tell you is that I did the best that I could, with what I had, and who I was, at the time. I don’t think any parent can look back and say with certainty that they have no regrets. I know I can’t. I’ve made more mistakes than anything else over the years.

But this past summer has taught me something; it’s not supposed to be about perfection. In the end, it’s not about the credit we earn or the failures we’ve made. It’s about the blessing of being a parent.

And as we settle into our routines and before we start complaining about the insignificant things that annoy us — the policies and choices of the school, the teachers and the government that we may not agree with — I’d like to remind everyone to remember those parents in our community who lost their child this summer, to remember the students who would have occupied those now-empty desks.

To remember them every time we feel sorry for ourselves, every time we feel irritated, stressed or angry. Because those parents would trade and give up anything to be in our shoes. Those lost student’s would give anything to be in those now-empty desks.

In the end, it’s about making the best of every minute we have left, and learning that the one’s in which have passed, are in the past. It’s what we do to make certain the next one won’t be wasted, that we should worry about instead.

**Photo courtesy of Gary Hanner @ The St. Clair Times**

What the Birth of my Daughter, Taught me about the Death of my Mother

For me, this time of year is always bittersweet. Celebrating the birth of my children, the blessings that were, and will always be, my children, is all that’s sweet to me in this sour world. The bitter part for me this time of year, is the reminder that I lost my mother on the very night that my daughter was conceived. And celebrating her birthday, always comes with a shadow of sadness.

My mom had been sick for awhile, she was diagnosed with cancer in 2002. And at 5 o’clock on the morning of September 30, 2004, a knock at the door turned my world upside down. My 45 year old mother, had passed away a little after midnight. That night, God made my mom an angel in heaven, and he sent me an angel on earth.

He knew what I needed, because until the day that I lost her, I hadn’t realized how wonderful she was, or how blessed I’d been to have her as my mom. My parents divorced when I was 4 years old, and my brothers and I had stayed with our dad. My mother had a lot of issues back in those days and the memories I have of the times we were with her, are not the greatest, some left scars. Scars that, after she decided to leave us, were left to fester over time. By the time she returned, 5 years later, those scars had left behind anger, heartache, and blame.

It was a struggle from the beginning, for both of us, to try and rebuild the relationship. Throughout my teenage years, it became a routine for us; her trying to earn my trust, my love, and my forgiveness. And me, keeping her out, denying her everything she sought.

You see, I was a horrible daughter. I held on to all the bad things, bad memories, bad times; because remembering the good things, good times, hurt a lot more than the bad. If I remembered the good, it made me question myself, why I wasn’t good enough. If I could be mad, I wouldn’t have to, anger made it her fault, not mine. I can understand so much more now that I’m older, now that I’m a mom. That’s the way of the world, the way it goes. But unfortunately, I lost my mother before I could understand. Before I realized that she wasn’t supposed to be perfect, that she was human, that she made mistakes and she had her faults, but she was still my mother.

So, when I found out I was having a daughter, I was terrified. I thought for sure that a daughter would be my karma, that I’d have to pay the price for the mistakes I’d made, for the heartache and pain I’d given my mother. But, my baby girl was precious from the start. She didn’t bring the lesson I’d feared or probably deserved. She brought me, taught me, what forgiveness really is. She’s shown me what kind of relationship I could have had– should have had– with mine. I no longer have to live with anger, with blame; I live with love, forgiveness, and joy. The regret I feel may never go away, but if regret is the price I have to pay, to have this amazing bond with my daughter, then I’ll pay it every day with interest, for as long as I live.

My advice to everyone who still has their mother, is love her; thank her, respect her, and cherish her. Try and understand that she does what she does, and says what she says, because she loves you, because she wants to protect you. The world feels so much bigger, lonelier when she is no longer in it, so don’t take her for granted. Remember that she loved you first, and she’ll always love you most of all.

I thought I had to have a daughter, to understand my mother. But I had to lose my mother, to understand my daughter.