hope so

The kids and I went to go see Jennifer today. I love having a place we can go when we all just really miss her a little extra. We talked about how its been almost one year since she moved to heaven.. We talked about how our bodies know things even if our minds don’t.

Jonathan explained an hour or so later.. that its because we love her so much. Even our bodies love her. .. miss her. As I stood in front of her headstone crying and talking to my forever 6 year old I watched my other 3 following each other around. Looking at other peoples spots, noticing who has new balloons or new flowers. They were enjoying themselves.. among headstones. It was a surreal image. One I could have never imagined for us a year ago.

but now it is just us.

I never imagined taking birthday party pictures like this.
I never imagined taking birthday party pictures like this.

I talked to Jennifer.. about where I would be buried when it was my time. *spoiler alert* I called dibs on being in the middle of Tony and Jennifer. How it feels like so long since I have seen her or touched her. And how much I am trying.. how much I miss her and how much I will never ever let the people that matter forget her.

Then later in the day driving it hit me. How vividly I remember this time last year. How so much of her time on hospice I can recall completely. That so much of that time I can go right back to without even trying.. even if I am trying not to actually.

This I can feel. This picture.. the start of the end is fresh and vibrant and consuming. I don't need a picture to remember.
This I can feel. This picture.. the start of the end is fresh and vibrant and consuming. I don’t need a picture to remember.

But that it feels like forever since I have held a healthy her. That in someways a healthy Jennifer feels more like a figment of my imagination that reality. .. but a dying her. That truly feels like yesterday.

And I just don’t understand it. It doesn’t make any sense. Why the time of her suffering is so fresh.. and the rest so muted.. So distant.

I can remember this day playing with homemade gak... but I can't touch it or feel it.
I can remember this day playing with homemade gak… but I can’t touch it or feel it.

I feel like I am just moving now. Back to everything tangible in this life I feel like I am watching it unfold instead of experiencing it. I don’t want to be around people very much. I am still going to the gym.. but that takes all of the social out of me. Its so much effort to smile and not cry. Except with my kids… they still bring me smiles and keep me buoyed. But those moments I am not with my kids.. In the car alone driving to the gym.. in the shower.. and the times they are all playing together. I just want to sink. . hard and fast into the dark abyss. Even if just for a moment.

Its hard right now. Hard to not resort back to shutting myself off from the whole outside world. I will put in a real effort each and every day for them though. Not because of her.. but this. This I do because of them. Because they deserve to see the sunshine even if I can’t feel it.hope so1

Yesterday I had one on one time with all 3 of my living children. It was the best part of my day. Those singular moments. When I was with just Charlotte she brought me an angel doll and called it sissy.

do you visit her baby?

showing her your wings?

i think so.

i hope so.

we need you jennifer.

all of us

in different ways.

we need you.

…until there is a cure..

15 Responses to “hope so”

  1. I love you all. I love Jennifer. She is with you always. I know, not in the way you deserve, she deserves to be, but she is with you always. Until you see her again. I hope you feel her and she comes to you in your dreams. We love you all oh so very much. Until there is a cure ♡

  2. Libby, My heart breaks for you. It’s incomprehensible to imagine the pain, sadness, longing, thoughts, and loss of losing your precious Angel Jennifer. You amaze me with your strength and courage. God Bless.

    … until there is a cure ..

    Love,

    Jan

  3. Children often can see things that we, as adults cannot. I believe Jennifer is with you all, with her family. In your weakest moments, she is there holding you, helping to guide you, and loving you.

  4. Hi Libby,

    I haven’t met you, but also have a connection to the gym. I’ve been reading all of your blogs.. still reading.. Jennifer. Part of your blog today brought me back to something I have in common. I don’t know what it feels like to lose a daughter, but I do know what it feels like to lose a granddaughter. It will be 5 years this March. I can vividly remember for the first year being okay when around other people, but the moment I was alone, especially driving my hour commute to and from work every day to San Jose, the tears just flowed – every day. It was my quiet place to be alone and just think. I know no one has the words to ease your pain, but just wanted you to know you are not alone.

  5. Libby, just want you to know – even though I’m a stranger, I read every post and think of Jennifer and all of you so often. I don’t always comment because I don’t know what to say. As awful as all of it has been, it is beautiful to see how Jennifer’s presence is felt so strongly by your children every day. 🙂

  6. Hi Libby, I am a “stranger” to you but I feel like I know you. I have read every single one of your post about your beautiful Jennifer. While not in the same category, I lost my first son at 22 weeks gestation. One minute I was pregnant and life was perfect…..the next I was in my own private hell. I live in Canada, and you and I will likely never meet, but i just want you to know that your Jennifer and you have made me a better mom to my 21 month old. When I put my son to bed at night your family is in my prayers and will continue to be……until there is a cure.

    She will be remembered Libby, even by those that did not get the honor of meeting her.

  7. I think because you are suffering its ‘easier’ for your mind to hold on to Jennifer’s suffering. Its your connection to her. She suffered and isnt there; now you are suffering and you are here. Thats the best way I can describe it. What an awful connection, I am sure.

    I also hope Jennifer was paying a visit to her sister. What a wonderful bond those two will continue to have because of the amazing mother, father, and brothers they share. You guys are doing a good job, Libby. We can see that through your blogs, we dont have to see it face to face.

  8. I am also a stranger who reads your blogs daily and prays for you daily. Cancer is such an ugly monster and I find you truly amazing starting Unravel to eventually destroy DIPG and hopefully other cancers. Jennifer is an angel in heaven holding you up everyday. Lots of prayers for your family.

  9. I hope and pray that you know how much Jennifer has changed my life and so many other lives. I pray her tumors will unlock DIPG for researchers but it is her humanity and your story telling that has unlocked a better way to parent, a better way to love, and a better way to live. I am better because of you and Jennifer.

  10. You are remembering the days of incredible intensity. I wonder if memories of the normal days will arise more as time passes. I was told we remember our own childhoods better and with more detail when we are older. Memory is a strange thing…
    Your three living children are amazing, beautiful, filled with light…true siblings of your sweet Jennifer.

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